"You're all alike, you women." A wicked light snapped into his eyes.
"Hear, dear lady, the Bard of the Congaree, the Poet Laureate of
South Carolina, Coogle for your benefit," hissed The Author, and
repeated, balefully:
Alas, poor woman, with eyes of sparkling fire,
Thy heart is often won by mankind's gay attire!
So weak thou art, so very weak at best,
Thou canst not look beyond a satin-lined vest!
I've seen thee ofttimes cast a-winning glance,
And be carried away, as it were within a trance,
By the gay apparel of some dishonest youth
Whose bosom heaved with not a single truth!
He was so outrageously funny that I forgave his impertinence. His
face relaxed, and his eyes twinkled. He was in high feather the
remainder of the evening. He was, in fact, so good-humoredly witty
that the boys and girls Alicia had brought home clustered about him
like golden bees.
"Miss Smith," whispered Miss Emmeline, under cover of their
laughter, "may I have a word with you?"
We drifted into the library; and she seated herself, folded her
hands, and said tremulously:
"My dear, my wish has been granted.
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