'And now,' Margaret went on, 'I daresay he won't talk at all, all the time you are here.'
'But will he understand what we say?' asked Peterkin, rather anxiously.
Margaret shook her head.
PETE HELD OUT HIS BROWN-PAPER PARCEL. 'THIS IS THE POETRY-BOOK,' HE SAID.—p. 97.
'I really don't know,' she replied. 'We had better talk in rather low voices. I don't think,' she went on, almost in a whisper, 'that he is fairy enough to hear if we speak very softly.'
Peterkin gave a sort of spring of delight.
'Oh!' he exclaimed, 'I am so glad you think he is fairyish, too.'
'Of course I do,' said she; 'that's partly what I wanted to tell you.'