“You,” said he.
“What?”
“You asked me a question. I answered it.”
She laughed as they walked together to the door of the feather shop.
“It appears to me that you have a very good opinion of yourself and a very bad one of me,” she remarked, smiling up to his face.
“That’s just where you make a mistake,” said he.
“How?”
“If I did not think well of you I should not have ordered Parkinson to make you a fan of the tail of the meteor.”
“Oh, Bertie, you have done that?”
“Why should I not do it?”