“That’s it,” returned the bard. “Whimsical!”
“I dare say you have had many a chance to turn an honest penny or two, if you had not been so skeptical, as you call it?” remarked the patroon, significantly. “People, I presume, have even offered to pay you for publishing the compliments of the season about their neighbors?”
“Well,” answered the scribbler, laughing, “I may have Midas’ longing for gold, but I also have his ears. And the ears predominate. I am such an ass I have even returned a fair petitioner’s perfumed note! Such a dainty little hand! How good the paper smelt! How devilish it read! The world’s idea about the devil always smelling of sulphur and brimstone is a slander on that much abused person. I can positively affirm that he smells of musk, attar, myrrh; as though he had lain somewhere with a lady’s sachet or scent-bag.”
“Really you should revise Milton,” murmured the land baron, carelessly, his interest quite gone. “But I must be moving on.” And he arose. “Good evening.”
“Good night!” said Straws, going to the door after his departing guest. “Can you see your way down? Look out for the turn! And don’t depend too much on the bannisters––they’re rather shaky. Well, he’s gone!” Returning once more to the room. “We’re coming up in the world, my dear, when such fashionable callers visit us! What do you think of him?”
“He is very––handsome!” replied the child.
“Oh, the vanity of the sex! Is he––is he handsomer than I?”
“Are you––handsome?” she asked.
“Eh? Don’t you think so?”