“I’ll not go!”
“O aunt, thou dearest of small creatures ... thou wilt not, thou canst not desert thy doating, solitary niece. For, indeed, go I must.”
“Why, Herminia, child? Why, a heaven’s name?”
“To—to fulfil my destiny, aunt.”
“Herminia, be sane! Tell me what you mean by ‘your destiny.’”
“To fill his pipe and light it, aunt. To bring his slippers. To cook for the pure joy of watching him eat. To perform those humble, lowly, feminine duties small in themselves yet that, in the sum, make for the glory of true womanhood and lift her nigh the angels.... Thus it went somewhat, the rest I ha’ forgot.”
“Pipe?” murmured the bewildered Duchess. “Slippers? Whose?”
“Thy monster’s, aunt.”
“Herminia, my poor child! Thou’rt distraught—’tis the sun to-day——”