Cyn. (staggered). What?
Peter. Alas! Is that not plain enough? How can I say it in a more simple form? I would like to sleep in one of your rooms, eat of your delicious muffins.
Cyn. Muffins? What do you know about my muffins?
Peter. In faith not much, but you have a look about you which tells me that you are an expert at muffins.
Cyn. (half convinced). Whatever made you come here?
Peter. I met a lady somewhat loquacious, but seeming n’ertheless to know whereof she spoke, who advised me to come.
Cyn. Is that so? Must have been Hepsy Sawyer. Hum! Mighty free about advising people to go to other people’s houses. What did she say?
Peter (doubtfully). You really wish me to tell you?
Cyn. (grimly). Yes, every word.
Peter. Let me think. She said inasmuch as you had been foolish enough to take in one poor silly imitation of a man, you might be crazy enough to accommodate as big a fool as I appeared to be.