"What are you laughing at?" he asked, with more animation than she thought him capable of.
"Nothing," said she.
"Oh, but you were laughing at something. What was it? Was it because I was staring at you?"
"Well, you do stare," she admitted.
"I can't help it. No one could help staring at you."
"Why? Am I such a curiosity?"
"You know why. Don't pretend you don't."
She blushed at this, making herself look prettier than ever; it was not in her to pretend she didn't know—nor yet to pretend that his crude flattery displeased her.
"A cat may look at a king," he remarked, his heavy face quite lit up with his enjoyment of his own delicate raillery.
"O yes, certainly," she retorted. "But you see I am not a king, and you are not a cat."