“I—I’m beginning to think you rather more man than beetle at times.”
“Well, you see, you touched me on a point of fanaticism,” he apologized.
“Do you mind standing up again for examination? No,” she decided, as he stepped out and stood with his eyes lowered obstinately. “You don’t seem changed to outward view. You still remind me,” with a ripple of irrepressible laughter, “of a near-sighted frog. It’s those ridiculous glasses. Why do you wear them?”
“To keep the sun out of my eyes.”
“And the moon at night, I suppose. They’re not for purposes of disguise?”
“Disguise! What makes you say that?” he asked quickly.
“Don’t bark. They’d be most effective. And they certainly give your face a truly weird expression, in addition to its other detriments.”
“If you don’t like my face, consider my figure,” he suggested optimistically. “What’s the matter with that?”
“Stumpy,” she pronounced. “You’re all in a chunk. It does look like a practical sort of a chunk, though.”
“Don’t you like it?” he asked anxiously.