"And as for moths, Jack, you can have no idea of what my ignorance was in regard to moths."
"Oh, come!" said Jack. "Every one knows about moths, of course. They eat our clothes, and fly into the lamps. That is one of the things one finds out when one is a baby, I suppose."
"Indeed!" cried Hildegarde. "And that is all there is to find out, I suppose. Why—" she stopped suddenly; then said in a very different tone, "Oh, Jack! this is a wonderful coincidence. Look! oh, will you look? oh! the beautiful, beautiful dear! Get me something! anything! quick!"
Jack, who was not accustomed to feminine ways, wondered if his fair cousin was going out of her mind. She was gazing intently at a spot of lighter green on the "grass" at her feet. Presently the spot moved, spread; developed two great wings, delicate, exquisite, in colour like a chrysoprase, or the pure, cold green one sometimes sees in a winter sunset.
"What is it?" asked Jack, in wonder.
"A Luna!" cried Hildegarde. "Hush! slip off on the other side, quietly! Fly to the house, and ask auntie for a fly-screen. Quick, Jack!"
Jack, greatly wondering, ran off none the less, his long legs scampering with irreverent haste through the Ladies' Garden. Returning with the screen, which auntie gave him without question, being well used to the sudden frenzies of a moth-collector, he found Hildegarde on her knees, holding her handkerchief over the great moth, which fortunately had remained quiet, being indeed stupid in the strong light. The girl's face was all aglow with triumph and delight.
"A perfect specimen," she cried, as she skilfully conveyed the great moth under the screen. "I have two, but the tails are a little broken. Isn't he glorious, Jack? Oh, happy day! Come, good cousin, and let us take him home in a triumphal procession."
Jack looked rather blank. "Are you going home now?" he asked.
"Of course, to put my beauty in the ammonia jar."