She did what you might not expect Jean to do, after all her strong-mindedness and her independence: She made an uncertain movement toward sitting up and facing things calmly, man-fashion; then she leaned and dropped her very independent brown head back upon Lite's shoulder, and behind her handkerchief she cried quietly while Lite held her close.
"Now, that's long enough to cry," he whispered to her, after a season of mental intoxication such as he had never before experienced.

"I started out three years ago to be the boss.

I ain't been working at it regular, as you might say, all the time.

But I'm going to wind up that way.

I hate to turn you over to your dad without some little show of making good at the job." Jean gave a little gurgle that may have been related to laughter, and Lite's lips quirked with humorous embarrassment as he went on.
"I don't guess," he said slowly, "that I'm going to turn you over at all, Jean.