"With you!"
But Ianthe was quite positive, even a little ironical, about that. "She is not. She rather dislikes you, Mr. Prince Charming, so there! We speak of you sometimes at night, in bed—we sleep together. She knows what I think of you. But she's quite, well, she doesn't like you at all—she acts the heavy sister."
"O!" said Masterman, groping as it were for some light in his darkness.
"She—what do you think?—she warns me against you," Ianthe continued.
"Against me?"
"As if I care. Do you?"
"No, no! I don't care."
They left the dark bank where they had been standing and walked along to the bridge. Halfway up its steps to the road he paused, and asked: "Then who is it that is so fond of me?"
"O, you know, you know." Ianthe nestled blissfully in his arm again.
"No, but who is it; I may be making another howler, I thought you meant Kate; what did she warn you of, I mean against me?"