"Too shy! Peter, poets are very sensitive. It's an awful thing to have one in your family!"
"Oh, you won't find it so bad."
"Yes, I shall. I always told you it would happen. And I always told you, too, that I couldn't cope with such a—calamity."
"Well, there's still hope that this may be a case of 'sweet sixteen' instead of genius. I'll take a peep and give you a verdict."
"She's a poet," insisted Mrs. Caldwell, obstinately convinced of the worst. And she fixed her eyes on Peter's face, as he read, with an eagerness that, save for her lamentations, might have seemed anxiety to have her opinion confirmed.
Presently Peter chuckled.
"What are you laughing at, Peter?"
"Have you read the 'Ode to the Evening Star'?"
"Yes, I've read them all."
"Well, then——"