Naomi relented a little.
"Forgive me, Mr. Engelhardt; I've been behaving horribly. I'm sorry I spoke at all, only I did so want to know who she was."
"I don't know myself."
"I was sure you didn't!"
"What's more, I don't care. What has it got to do with the merits of the poem?"
"I won't presume to say. I only know that it makes all the difference to my interest in the poem."
"But why?"
"Because I want to know what she was like."
"But surely to goodness," cried Engelhardt, "you can imagine her, can't you? You're meant to fill her in to your own fancy. You pays your money and you takes your choice."