“Creditor?” suggested Mauville, with an amused smile. “I know the class. Don’t apologize! I am intruding. Quite a family party!” he went on, his gaze resting upon Celestina and the interrupted repast.
With his elegant attire, satin waistcoat and fine ruffles, he seemed out of place in the attic nook of the Muse; a lordling who had wandered by mistake into the wrong room. But he bore himself with the easy assurance of a man who could adapt himself to any surroundings; even to Calliope’s shabby boudoir!
“My dear,” remarked the disconcerted bard, “get a chair for Mr. Mauville. Or––I beg your pardon––would you mind sitting on the bed? Won’t you have some wine? Celestina, bring another glass.”
But the girl only stood and stared at the dark, courtly being who thus unexpectedly had burst in upon them.
“There isn’t any more,” she finally managed to say. “You’ve got the only glass there is, please!”
“Dear me; dear me!” exclaimed Straws. “How glasses do get broken! I have so few occasions to use them, too, for I don’t very often have visitors.”
“You are surprised to see me?” continued Mauville, pleasantly, seating himself on the edge of the bed. “Go on with your supper. You don’t mind my smoking while you eat?”
