"As symbols!"
"Symbols?" he retorted in derision.
"Yes, symbols! The three most ancient symbols of an insulted people's fury—the egg, the turnip, and the cat."
"Mala gallina, malum ovum," he laughed, adjusting his sword and picking several streamers of confetti from his tunic. "Did they hurl spot-eggs in ancient Rome, fair maid?"
"They did; and cats—ex necessitate rei," she observed with composure.
"Ex nihilo felis fit—a cat-fit for nothing," he retorted, flippantly.
Half disdainfully she straightened out the slight disorder of her own apparel, still breathing fast, and keeping tight hold of the bundle of papers.
"How soon are you going to let me have them?" he asked good-humouredly.
"Never."
"I can't permit you to leave this room until you hand them to me."