‘The comparison to a Dutch cherub?’ asked Guy.
‘She is more after the pattern of the little things on little wings, in your blotting-book,’ said Charles; ‘certain lines in the predicament of the cherubs of painters—heads “et proeterea nihil”.’
‘O Guy, do you write verses? cried Charlotte.
‘Some nonsense,’ muttered Guy, out of countenance; ‘I thought I had made away with that rubbish; where is it?’
‘In the blotting-book in my room,’ said Charles. ‘I must explain that the book is my property, and was put into your room when mamma was beautifying it for you, as new and strange company. On its return to me, at your departure, I discovered a great accession of blots and sailing vessels, beside the aforesaid little things.’
‘I shall resume my own property,’ said Guy, departing in haste.
Charlotte ran after him, to beg for a sight of it; and Philip asked Charles what it was like.
‘A romantic incident,’ said Charles, ‘just fit for a novel. A Petrarch leaving his poems about in blotting-books.’
Charles used the word Petrarch to stand for a poet, not thinking what lady’s name he suggested; and he was surprised at the severity of Philip’s tone as he inquired, ‘Do you mean anything, or do you not?’
Perceiving with delight that he had perplexed and teased, he rejoiced in keeping up the mystery: