“How many times has he kissed you?”
Anne sputtered. “Who says—”
“Do not try to overwit or outrage your way free. You promised.”
A pox on intelligent, unrepentant younger sisters.
“Well?” Harriet spun in a circle, stopped and gave Anne an arch look. “How many?”
“Hush. I need to count.”
And while Anne attempted to arrive at a number honest enough to satisfy her conscience and demure enough to salvage her pride, Harriet chortled as though Christmas had come early and late and every day in between.