“Haven’t I? I dare say.”
“No, Sir Thomas was her lord, not my lord, and it was his cough that was short instead of his breath.”
“Shows that my memory is failing at last,” he answered. “But, tell me, do you know every piece of poetry ever written?”
“No, not so many. I happen to remember that, though. Besides, we dwellers on Olympus hold poetry in rather more respect than you mortals.”
“You forget that I am Vertumnus,” he answered haughtily.
“Of course! And you puzzled me with that yesterday, too. I had to go home and hunt up a dictionary of mythology to see who Vertumnus was.”
“I—I trust you found him fairly respectable?” he asked. “To tell the truth, I don’t recollect very much about him myself; and some of those old chaps were—well, a bit rapid.”
“Vertumnus was quite respectable,” she replied. “In fact, he was quite a dear, the way he slaved to win Pomona. I never cared very much about Pomona,” she added frankly.
“I—I never knew her very well,” he answered carelessly.