“Does your sister Lucy love this nice, funny Mr. Whacker?”
Lucy looked perfectly aghast.
“Yes, she do.”
“She do, do she?” echoed the Unknown; while ripples of merriment danced about his singularly intense and glowing eyes, like those on the dark waters of some deep lake.
“Did she ever tell you so?”
“Y-e-e-e-es,” replied she, doubtfully.
“Mr. Whacker, I assure you,” began Lucy, choking with mortification, “I—”
“I forgive, though I can never forget—”
“But—”
“St!” whispered Alice; “it is as good as a play!”