Die because a woman’s faire?
If she be not faire for me,
What care I how faire she be?’
that is the right sort of spirit, eh, Percy.”
“How should I know?” returned Percy, morosely—he was evidently out of humor about something; and then, as though he feared to bring on himself one of Erle’s jesting; remarks, he roused himself with an effort. “Well, Toddlekins, how’s Flibbertigibbet; come and sit on my knee, and I will tell you the story of Mr. Harlequin Puss-in-boots.”
“My name is not Toddlekins,” returned Fluff indignantly, “and I don’t care about Flibbertigibbet or Puss-in-boots; your stories are stupid, Percy, they never have any end.” And then, with the capriciousness of a spoiled child, she sidled up to her chief favorite, Erle, and put her hands confidingly in his.
“When are you going to take me again to the Zoölogical Gardens, Mr. Erle?” she said, in a coaxing voice; “Fern wants to go, too, don’t you, dear?” but her sister shook her head at her with a faint smile, and went on with her work.
“I don’t see my way clear yet awhile, Pussy,” replied Erle, as he smoothed Fluff’s curls, and here he and Percy exchanged meaning looks; for during his grandfather’s absence from town Erle had paid frequent visits to Beulah Place, and on one occasion had actually carried off the child for a day at the Zoölogical Gardens in spite of Fern’s demur that she hardly knew what her mother would say.
“But surely you can do as you like, Mr. Erle,” persisted the chill, earnestly. “Percy tells us that you are so rich, and ride such beautiful horses in the park, and that you have nothing to do but just enjoy yourself; why can’t you take Fern and me to the Zoölogical Gardens?”
“Oh, Fluff, Fluff!” remonstrated her sister, in a distressed tone, “what will Mr. Erle think of you?”