The moth will persist in fluttering about the bright flame of the candle even after its wings are slightly singed.
Silly moth—wicked candle!
And yet the world goes on, new moths come and the same old story with variations, is repeated.
Roderic professed to be displeased at the idea of Cleo coming up to join him in this midnight tramp.
Secretly the man was delighted, for he felt the human desire to confide his hopes and fears in a sympathetic ear, and though he would rather it had been some one else than Cleo, still, she knew much of his love affairs, and had promised to be a sister to him—he would be egotistical and foolish to ever believe that she cared for him other than a dear sister might.
"My dear cousin, why do you come on deck—don't you know that at this hour in this semi-tropical climate the dew is falling, and it is very unhealthy for one to be exposed to the night air?"
She laughed in his face.
"Well, you are to blame. I should have been in my little bunk and probably far away in the Land of Nod had you been content to remain aboard and not start out on a very Quixotic errand. But I am only joking, Roderic. You have met with adventures, of that I am sure from what I saw and heard. Poor Jerome has once more crossed your path and found it one of thorns. Now, you must tell me all that happened, do you hear, Sir Galahad?"
A little hand slipped through his arm, and Roderic found himself obliged to surrender.