“This, Mademoiselle,” resumed the bard, “is the young girl I spoke about. Her mother,” he added in a low voice, “was a beautiful quadroon; her father”––here Straws mentioned a name. The wardeness flushed furiously. “Father died; always meant to make it right; didn’t; crime of good intentions! Virago of an aunt; regular termagant; hates the girl! Where was a home to be found for her? Where”––gazing around him––“save this––Eden? Where a mother––save in one whose heart is the tenderest?”
Diplomatic Straws! Impulsively the wardeness crossed to Celestina; her blue eyes beamed with sentiment and friendliness. “I will give her my personal attention,” she said. And then to the young girl: “We will be friends, won’t we?”
“Yes,” replied Celestina, slowly, after a moment’s 419 discreet hesitation. She was glad the other did not kiss her like Feu-de-joie.
“I always like,” said the wardeness, “to feel my little girls are all my little friends.”
“Mademoiselle,” exclaimed the bard, “I’ll––I’ll dedicate my next volume of poems to you!”
“Really, Mr. Straws!”
“For every kindness to her, you shall have a verse,” he further declared.
“Then your dedication would be as long as Homer!” she suddenly flashed out, her arm around the child.
Straws looked at her quickly. It was too bad of him! And that borrowed Don Juan smile! Nothing could excuse it.
Castiglione busied herself with Celestina’s ribbons. “Whoever did tie that bow-knot?” she observed.