Read the following passage and questions, then choose the right answer from options, the answer should be one of A, B, C, D.

<passage>:
the dark." "You're joking." Vivian frowned a little at that remark, as if she were puzzled herself. "Well, maybe I am and maybe I'm not," she said. "In any case, don't get conceited about your Flashing Eyes, because I'm sure you'll never know how to take advantage of them." When he parted from her downtown, pausing a moment to watch her walk Before passing judgment, just ask yourself one question: Would you like answering for humanity any better than Ernie Meeker did? overly gaudy nor utterly drab—indicating median social level, which is confirmed by the size of his bachelor nest. Inward maps of his environment not fantastically inaccurate. Feelings reasonably "Except we can never be sure of that 'reasonable' part." "Of course not! Thank your stars that's the fate of his race hangs on his reactions to them. I'd be inclined to "No—at least I question the last. After all, the Great Gifts aren't as important, really, as the Big Gifts. Besides...." "Besides what? Come on, spit it out!" The Invisible Being was the bluff, blunt type. "Well," said his less hearty but unswervingly honest companion, "I'm always afraid that you'll use the granting of a Great Gift as an excuse for some sardonic trick—that you'll put a sting in its tail." test, he fails. And aren't both of us malicious, plaguing spirits, eager to knock holes in the inward armor of provincial entities? It's in the nature of our job. But we can argue about that in due course. What Little Gifts would you suggest?" Ernie blinked. After a moment, he pointed toward the center of the Ernie Meeker went home and shaved. Five days—and shaves—later, he "That's true, all right," Ernie agreed, trying to remember how well he them to, in accordance with their flimsy souls, he told himself at the barely conscious level. Men should die, hearts should break, girls should tell, nations perish, curtains get dirty, milk sour ... and So Ernie Meeker pushed through the little slot beside the mirror and wonderingly, from tentacle to impatient tentacle. That day, Ernie felt a little sick, somehow. After dinner, he decided Ernie sat down suddenly on the toilet seat. The spoon rattled against eye-testing in between, Ernie took up a little of the white powder on "Ernie! Are you going to be much longer?" Sleep refused even to flirt with Ernie, his mind was full of so many as the white hours accumulated and his thoughts began to squirm, he his back on it right now and draw a picture of it correct to the tiniest detail. But who would ever want to do such a thing, or want to be able to? It was an abnormal, dangerous, temporary sensitivity, he told himself, generated by the excitement of the crazy discovery he'd made in the bathroom. Like the thoughts of a drowning man, riffling an For want of a better place, Ernie dropped the rubber tube from the Further than that, in the way of engine hygiene, Ernie's strictly pinches shouldn't be too particular about contaminants. Besides, the and was relieved to find it still empty. He wished fervently, not for decided anyway who that would be). It would be just too silly to approach anyone he knew with a more-than-wild story and featureless practical jokes, secret product perhaps military, or mad inventor (except himself). For how the devil should the stuff get into his bathroom disguised as At that point, simple faith came to Ernie's rescue: in the same Ernie swung the hose around, flipping his thumb over the end to make Ernie felt light-headed. He decided there was enough water in the gas "Ernie! Come on in and have breakfast!" He heeded his sister's call, telling himself it would be a good idea Fabius. On the whole, Ernie was glad his sister was in the car when he though he didn't feel exactly right about exposing her to the danger of being blown up without first explaining to her the risk. But the motor started right up and began purring powerfully. Ernie's sister commented on it favorably. Then she went on to ask, "Did you remember to buy gas yesterday?" "But then how ... Ernie, didn't you once tell me the gauge doesn't "No, I'll wait for Wheaton—I know a place there I can get it cheaper," Ernie chose a moment when his sister was out of the room to ask if or some usable fuel. "Who's been getting at you?" Uncle Fabius demanded sharply, to Ernie's surprise and embarrassment. "That's one of the oldest swindles. With considerable difficulty, Ernie convinced his uncle that he had impassioned ninety-minute defense of big business, small business, prosperity, America, money, know-how, and a number of other institutions that defended pretty easily, so that the situation was wholly normal when Ernie's sister returned. "Oh, I've already done that," he assured her. "Made a special trip so I "No," she said, "I didn't," and she looked at him steadily, as she had that morning. He similarly retreated to driving. she said. "I knew that for some reason you lied to me when—" The motor, starting readily again, cut short her remark and Ernie didn't press his small triumph by asking her what she was about to say. To tell the truth, Ernie wasn't feeling as elated about today's it is rough when you can't share things, really rough not being able to share depressing news corrodes the spirit, but not being able to share exciting news can sometimes be even more corroding. From that moment, the fuel-powder became a trial to Ernie rather than a about something on the latter's doorsteps, which unsettled him further. troubled stomach. Ernie explained on the spur of the moment that he was using the box to carry plaster of Paris, which involved him in further lies that he felt were quite unconvincing as well as making him appear decidedly eccentric, even butter-brained. Bill took to calling him "the sculptor." Meanwhile, besides the problem of the white powder, Ernie was having Like many another car-owning commuter, Ernie found the traffic and During those brief, swift, crowded trips Ernie, generally looking conversations almost every morning and afternoon. Ernie couldn't figure out the reason and wasn't at all sure he liked it—except for Vivian. She was the sort of girl Ernie dreamed about, improperly. Tall, blonde and knowing, excitedly curved but armored in a black suit, friendly and funny but given to making almost cruelly deflating remarks, as if the neatly furled short umbrella dangling from her wrist might better be a black dog whip. out from their morning conversations. He hadn't got to the point of asking her to lunch, but he was prodding himself. Why such a girl should ever have asked him for a match in the first place and then put up with his clumsy babblings on subsequent mornings was a mystery to him. He finally asked her about it in what he hoped was a joking way, though she seemed to know a lot more about joking than he did. "Don't you know?" she countered. "I mean what makes you attractive to people?" "Me attractive? No." "Well, I'll tell you then, Ernie, and I've got to admit it's something quite out of the ordinary. I've never noticed it in anyone else. Ernie, I'm sure your knowledge of romantic novels is shamefully you, Ernie, actually have. Flashing eyes." Is that what I do?" "No, Ernie, though you're doing it now," she told him, shaking her head. "No, Ernie, your eyes just give a tiny flash of their own about barely bright enough for another person to notice. It makes you irresistible. Of maybe they wouldn't flash in

<question>:
What is Ernie likely to do next time he sees Vivian?

<options>:
A Joke with her
B Avoid her
C Ask her to lunch
D Make fun of her

<answer>:

C