“Because––Really, my dear, you ask too many questions!”
Although Straws and Celestina had left the house early in the day, it was noon before they reached the attractive garden, wherein was sequestered the “select seminary.”
In this charming prison, whose walls were overrun with flowering vines, and whose cells were pretty vestal bowers, entered the bard and the young girl, to be met on the front porch by the wardeness herself, a mite of a woman, with wavy yellow hair, fine complexion and washed-out blue eyes. Sensitive almost to shyness, Mademoiselle de Castiglione appeared more adapted for the seclusion of the veil in the Ursuline Church than for the varied responsibilities of a young ladies’ institute. At the approach of the poet, she turned, looked startled, but finally came forward bravely.
“Oh, I’ve read it again, Mr. Straws!” she exclaimed, impetuously.
“What?” he returned, sternly, pausing at the foot of the steps.
“Your––your lovely Strophes!” she continued, timidly.
The bard frowned. “All great men profess to scowl at flattery,” thought Straws. “She will have but a poor opinion of me, if I do not appear an offended Hector!”
“Mademoiselle, I excessively dislike compliments,” he began aloud, but having gone thus far, his courage and lack of chivalry failed him in the presence of her dismay; he forgot his greatness, and hastened to add, with an ingratiating smile: “Except when delivered by such a charming person!”
“Oh, Mr. Straws!”