“Mr. Tuck—that will be splendid!”
“And now that you know my name it’s only fair to tell me yours.”
“Pierrette,” she answered.
“Not really!”
His unconscious imitation of her manner of uttering this phrase evoked another merry laugh.
“Yes, really,” she answered.
“And you live somewhere, of course—not in the tree up there with your moon, but in the bungalow, I suppose.”
“I live wherever I am; that’s the fun of playing all the time,” she replied evasively. “Poste restante, the Little Dipper. How do you like that?”
“But just now your true domicile is the bungalow?” he persisted.
“Oh, I’ve been stopping there for a few days, that’s all. I haven’t any home—not really,” she added as though she found her homelessness the happiest of conditions. She snapped her fingers and recited: