“Maybe.”
She crept completely into his arms, shielding herself with his sleeves.
“Where is it—that bad gnat?”
“Here.” He pointed at her with an index-finger.
“Here!” She gave a little scream. “On my face!”
She was a small bundle of pricked nerves, frightened at a shadow of her own making. Komazawa relented, and pressed her little, fluttering face against his own.
“There—foolish one! No; there is nothing on your face. You are the gnat I meant.”
“Me!” She drew back a pace. “But I am not an insect!”
“Little bit like one,” said Koma, a smile of sunshine replacing his affected gravity a moment since.
His small companion sat up stiffly, half indignant, half curious.