There was a moment’s pause. “Personally I don’t mind,” said Clio, “but—considering where we are—do you think that last story quite—quite judicious?”
IV.
MELPOMENE’S STORY: THE CURSED PIG.
“I ’M rather thirsty,” said Erato to Clio. Erato had stretched herself once more on the mosaic floor of the cloud-room, with enough cushions to make herself comfortable. “So am I,” said Terpsichore.
“Well, considering how very hot the night is, I am not surprised. Cupid!”
The little petulant boy came laughing into the room, and nodded his head in reply to the order which Clio gave him. Then he brought in a silver tray covered with fragile glasses of nectar. All the Muses drank nectar except Melpomene. She had a look of intense gloom, and she drank blood-and-seltzer from a very large tumbler with a very bad curse cut in Greek characters on the margin of it. Before Cupid handed her glass to Erato, he just touched it with his own lips. Then he sat down by Erato’s side, playing with her long hair. “Erato,” he said, “I would like to wrap your beautiful dark hair all around me, and go to sleep. There’s a faint scent of those yellow roses about it, and it’s awfully soft and warm. I love you, Erato.”
“You ought to love all of us,” said Clio reprovingly.
“I try to,” said Cupid, very soberly, “and it’s tough work with some of them,” he added under his breath.
“Cupid, darling,” whispered Erato to him, “to-morrow I will give you the bow-string that you wanted.”
“Thanks awfully,” said Cupid, “and you must tell the next story, you know, and I will lie here and listen to it. Tell me the story again about that shepherd in Sicily who——”
“Hush! hush!” interrupted Erato, “some of the sisters hardly like that kind of story; and they say that the young students at work in the colleges below us never think of love, and would not care to hear about it.”