“It is magnificent,” said Hermia; “I believe you are that rarest object in the history of the world—a poet.”
“I have written miles of it, and have made some of the most beautiful bonfires in history.”
Hermia laughed. “Could you never be consistently serious?”
“Yes, I could,” said Quintard, briefly.
Hermia looked at the door. “Higgins is coming to announce luncheon,” she said.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FIVE POINTS OF VIEW.
At five o’clock Mrs. Dykman, Helen Simms, and Cryder dropped in for a cup of tea, and Miss Starbruck came down-stairs.
Quintard insisted that, in spite of Miss Starbruck’s open disapproval of him, she was his proudest conquest; and her abuse was certainly growing milder. She rarely failed to appear at these informal tea-drinkings; there was just enough of the worldly flavor about them to fascinate without frightening her; and it was noticeable that to whatever Quintard chose to say she listened with a marked and somewhat amusing interest. The poor old lady was no more proof against personal magnetism and the commanding manliness which was Quintard’s most aggressive characteristic than her less rigid sisters. Quintard threatened to marry her and deprive Hermia of her only natural protector, but Miss Starbruck was as yet innocent of his designs.