“He would answer to ‘Hi!’ or to any loud cry
Such as ‘Fry me’ or ‘Fritter my wig’!”
She caught up the stanza:
“To ‘What-you-may-call-um’ or ‘What-was-his-name!’
But especially ‘Thing-um-a-jig.’”
“So you know Lewis Carroll. How really human of you!”
“It is better to be humane than human,” murmured Kent, relinquishing his aural grip as he began to touch bottom.
“Is that a plea? Very well. I shall be very gentle and soothing. But, oh,” she burst out irrepressibly, “may the kindly fates give me to be among those present when you fall in love!”
Kent favored her with an elaborate bow. “Your presence would be the one essential.”
“Really,” she approved, “you’re progressing. I begin to feel repaid for my visit, already.”
This time Kent looked her in the eye. “You’re not very demanding in the matter of returns for your trouble,” he remarked. “To come through all this wind and rain and then be content merely to contemplate the outside of a door—that argues an humble spirit. To be sure, however, it’s a very good door; one of the most interesting features of our local architecture, and may lead to—all sorts of things.”
It was her turn to grow red.