Miss Scarlett liberated her foot, spun about, and dashed into a stormy
prelude, modulating into the accompaniment to the refrain of Sullivan's
_Once Again_, which she sang with much fervor.

She was about the height of a well-grown girl of twelve or thirteen,
and had appealing eyes of delf blue, and a round face of peachy
softness. Her hair was undeniably red, of a shade which put to shame
such verbal mitigations as "auburn" or "golden," and was of tropic
luxuriance and anarchistic disposition. It curled and uncurled and
strayed all about her brow and neck like an explosion of spun lava.
For the rest, had she really been a little girl of twelve, one would
feel free to describe her as fat and roly-poly; but in the case of a
young spinster of somewhere in her third decade, well-gowned and stayed
and otherwise in physical subjection to the modiste, and singing of
love like a diva, what can one say? No more than this, perhaps, that
the fortunate man who carries her off the field a prize, will realize
before he has got very far that he has captured something.

"Love, once again, meet me once again!
Old love is waking; shall it wake in vain!"

Thus sang Miss Scarlett, ending with a fervid trill. Then she turned
about, sitting with her feet very wide apart, and faced Doctor Brown.

"Dissecting table, indeed!" she burst forth. "I tell you, it's
blasphemy to speak of making such use of a nice man! But, if I could
pick 'em out, so as to be sure the right ones were dissected, I don't
know but I'd agree."

Flossie Smith said that some of them ought to be put to _some_ use; and
Doctor Brown, having reminded the company of her profession, merely
laughed again.

"Here I am down from Allentown," Miss Scarlett proceeded, "on purpose
to be stayed with flagons and comforted with apples, as I have been
here in the past. I wanted to have a good sort of lackadaisical time
with the nice boys here, and I've had to stay--I don't know how
long--on a famine diet of women and girls, with Ella Wheeler for sauce.
It makes me swearing mad!"

"I like that now!" said Flossie. "I really like that!"

"Well, I don't," Miss Scarlett went on. "I'm not used to it. To be
left alone--oh, of course Billy Cox has been trying to butt in, but
what good is he? My Hercules, my Roman Antony, who won my trusting
heart last summer, at a time when I had just got it back from what I
had thought a final and total loss--I find him away, and when