“No,” said the girl, carefully drying and arranging the quaint Egyptian tea-set, “and I won’t for ages.”
“But you’re not going to wash all those things? The concierge does that.”
“No, only the wine-glasses and the tea-set. The idea of trusting such fragile cups to a concierge! What a boy!”
But she was soon ready to dry her slender hands, and caught up a towel with a demure glance at Gethryn.
“Which do you think most of—your dogs, or me?”
“Pups.”
“That parrot, or me?”
“Poll.”
“The raven, or me? The cat, or me?”
“Bird and puss.”