“I doubt it,” said I. “Even a pun doesn't quite convince me.”
“Well, if that is not the reason,” said Lady Muriel, “what reason would you give?”
I tried hard to understand the meaning of this question: but the persistent humming of the bees confused me, and there was a drowsiness in the air that made every thought stop and go to sleep before it had got well thought out: so all I could say was “That must depend on the weight of the potato.”
I felt the remark was not so sensible as I should have liked it to be. But Lady Muriel seemed to take it quite as a matter of course. “In that case—” she began, but suddenly started, and turned away to listen. “Don't you hear him?” she said. “He's crying. We must go to him, somehow.”
And I said to myself “That's very strange.” I quite thought it was Lady Muriel talking to me. “Why, it's Sylvie all the while!” And I made another great effort to say something that should have some meaning in it. “Is it about the potato?”
CHAPTER 21. THROUGH THE IVORY DOOR.
“I don't know,” said Sylvie. “Hush! I must think. I could go to him, by myself, well enough. But I want you to come too.”
“Let me go with you,” I pleaded. “I can walk as fast as you can, I'm sure.”
Sylvie laughed merrily. “What nonsense!” she cried. “Why, you ca'n't walk a bit! You're lying quite flat on your back! You don't understand these things.”