"Well, I'm here," she said; "what are you going to do about it?"

"Do about it?" Jerry advanced two or three paces and stood looking
down at her. In our first conversation he told me that she seemed
absurdly small, quite too insignificant to be so impudent. In our
second conversation I elicited the fact that he thought her skin
smooth; in our third that her lips were much redder than mine.

When he got near her he paused, for she hadn't moved away as he had
expected her to and only looked up at him and laughed.

"Yes, _do_ about it," she repeated.

"You--you know I could--could throw you over the wall with one hand,"
he stammered.

"Perhaps, but you wouldn't."

"Why not?'

"Because you're a gentleman."

"Oh, am I?"

"Yes. Or if you aren't you ought to be."

He frowned at that, a little puzzled.

"Where do you come from?" he asked.