“But why? You haven’t explained your judgment so that I can see if it’s right. You haven’t said I’m wrong.”
“Because I never thought he—whoever ‘he’ may be—would ask for a piece of ribbon. And as for giving such a favour—if ‘he’ wanted it, he would have to take it.” She turned to me. “You’re not such a success at the magic trade, Harilek. You’d better try something else.”
“I shall.”
“And what will you try?”
“What the soldiers of my country call ‘offensive action,’ a recipe which is very useful for thought-reading.”
“You’re pleased to be mysterious now.”
However, before I could answer we saw that people were getting up, so we followed into the hall, and I saw little of her after that, as Andros and Forsyth annexed her to sing with Ziné, and I got no more chance of thought-reading that evening.
But Forsyth successfully spoilt my sleep by wondering whether Aryenis was going to marry Andros.
“I’m sure they’re going to get off soon,” said he, sitting on his bed contemplating the picture of Ziné which he had annexed out of Wrexham’s kit. “They’re always much too busy to worry about Ziné and me when we go out together.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve got any grouse on the point, anyway,” said I brutally. “You get the more time to analyze who exactly Ziné reminds you of.”