The Faun Man turned to the golden woman and addressed the words to her shamelessly. He put his arm about her, and drew her head down against his shoulder. Through the slits in her mask her eyes gleamed up. Peter, watching, wondered why it was that she would only be kind to him in fun; he had noticed that, when the Faun Man was in earnest, she never responded.
They had been singing for an hour, pushed this way and that, too jammed to attempt steering. Their punt had drifted near a house-boat, all a-swing with lanterns and steep with flowers. Through the windows they could see that a dinner had just ended; tall young men in evening dress sprawled back in chairs. Corks were still popping.
The Faun Man whispered, “They’re one of the crews breaking training. What’ll we give ‘em? Oh, yes, this’ll do. Tune up.” So they tuned up:
“If yer gal ain’t all yer thought ‘er,
And for everyfing yer’ve bought ‘er
She don’t seem to care a ‘appenny pot o’ glue;
If she tells yer she won’t miss yer,
And she doesn’t want ter kiss yer,
Though yer’ve cuddled ‘er from ‘Ammersmif ter Kew;
If yer little side excurshiums