"You walked with her, and talked with her, Peter—like Caesar, 'you came, you saw, you conquered'!"
Here I dragged my tinder-box from my pocket so awkwardly as to bring the lining with it.
"And—even smiled at her, Peter—and you so rarely smile!"
Having struck flint and steel several times without success, I thrust the tinder-box back into my pocket and fixed my gaze upon the moon.
"Is she so very pretty, Peter?"
I stared up at the moon without answering.
"I wonder if you bother her with your Epictetus and—and dry-as-dust quotations?"
I bit my lips and stared up at the moon.
"Or perhaps she likes your musty books and philosophy?"
But presently, finding that I would not speak, Charmian began to sing, very sweet and low, as if to herself, yet, when I chanced to glance towards her, I found her mocking eyes still watching me. Now the words of her song were these: