"And does my robe tell you nothing?"

"Nothing so much; a yellow tunic and becoming enough, but nothing about
it to hang a deduction on. Come! Are you a girl, after all?"

"I do not count myself a girl."

"Why, then, you are the most blooming boy that ever eyes were set upon;
and though 'tis with some tinge of regret, yet cheerfully I welcome you
into the ranks of manhood."

"I hate your manhood, send it after the maidhood; it fits me just
as badly."

"But An, be reasonable; man or maid you must be."

"Must be; why?"

"Why?" Was ever such a question put to a sane mortal before? I stared
at that ambiguous thing before me, and then, a little wroth to be played
with, growled out something about Martians being all drunk or mad.

"'Tis you yourself are one or other," said that individual, by this time
pink with anger, "and if you think because I am what I am you can safely
taunt me, you are wrong. See! I have a sting," and like a thwarted
child my companion half drew from the folds of the yellow tunic-dress
the daintiest, most harmless-looking little dagger that was ever seen.

"Oh, if it comes to that," I answered, touching the Navy scabbard