"I know many of the lines by heart," said I. And having lighted my pipe, I took up the book, and once more began to read. Yet I was conscious, all the time, of Charmian's flashing needle, also she had begun to hum again. And, after I had endeavored to read, and Charmian had hummed for perhaps five minutes, I lowered my book, and, sighing, glanced at her. "I am trying to read, Charmian." "So I see." "And your humming confuses me." "It is very quiet outside, Peter." "But I cannot read by moonlight, Charmian." "Then—don't read, Peter." Here she nibbled her thread with white teeth, and held up what she had been sewing to view the effect of a bow of riband, with her head very much on one side. And I inwardly wondered that she should spend so much care upon such frippery—all senseless bows and laces. "To hum is a very disturbing habit!" said I. "To smoke an evil-smelling pipe is worse—much worse, Peter!" "I beg your pardon!" said I, and laid the offending object back upon the mantel. "Are you angry, Peter?" "Not in the least; I am only sorry that my smoking annoyed you—had I known before—" "It didn't annoy me in the least!" "But from what you said I understood—" "No, Peter, you did not understand; you never understand, and I don't think you ever will understand anything but your Helens and Phrynes—and your Latin and Greek philosophies, and that is what makes you so very annoying, and so—so quaintly original!" "But you certainly found fault with my pipe." "Naturally!—didn't you find fault with my humming?" "Really," said I, "really, I fail to see—" "Of course you do!" sighed Charmian. Whereupon there fell a silence between us, during which she sewed industriously, and I went forth with brave Hector to face the mighty Achilles. But my eye had traversed barely twenty lines when: "Peter?" "Yes?" "Do you remember my giving you a locket?" "Yes." "Where is it?" "Oh! I have it still—somewhere." "Somewhere, sir?" she repeated, glancing at me with raised brows. "Somewhere safe," said I, fixing my eyes upon my book. "It had a riband attached, hadn't it?" "Yes." "A pink riband, if I remember—yes, pink." "No—it was blue!" said I unguardedly. "Are you sure, Peter?" And here, glancing up, I save that she was watching me beneath her lashes. "Yes," I answered; "that is—I think so." "Then you are not sure?" "Yes, I am," said I; "it was a blue riband," and I turned over a page very ostentatiously. "Oh!" said Charmian, and there was another pause, during which I construed probably fifty lines or so. "Peter?" "Well?" "Where did you say it was now—my locket?" "I didn't say it was anywhere." "No, you said it was 'somewhere'—in a rather vague sort of way, Peter." "Well, perhaps I did," said I, frowning at my book. "It is not very valuable, but I prized it for association's sake, Peter." "Ah!—yes, to be sure," said I, feigning to be wholly absorbed. "I was wondering if you ever—wear it, Peter?"