Rosie looks at him in surprise. "Why, do you?" she blurts, perhaps a touch too enthusiastically. "I was in my neighbor's cellar, and then there was this...this doorway, and then I was in Anterwold, and there was a party, and then when I found the doorway again and tried to take Jenkins home, I was here. Well, in the park, not here with the flowers, but--" She stops, flushing slightly. She really did talk too much and yet say very little, as her teacher had once put it; another of her terrible faults.

She looks at the smear of honey on the man's finger, feeling a small amount of relief that neither of them are in contact, such as it is, with the doorway to the honeycombs. If it operated on the same principles as Miss Meerson's pagoda, it was entirely possible that it might have winked out of existence with the poor fellow's hand inside of it. How awful that might have been! "But why would anyone build a doorway just for honey?"