mmunicate with it?

EROS.

I hesitate to disturb your illusion, Hera. But you are singularly
mistaken. I have a far greater interest in this messenger than you
can have; and if you dream its presence to be a tribute to your
pride, I am much more tenderly certain that it is a reproach to my
affections. See, those needlessly gaudy wings,--a mere disguise to
bring it through the multitude of its enemies--are closed now, and
it resumes its pendulous attitude, as aerial as an evening cloud,
as graceful as sorrow itself, sable as the shadow of a leaf in the
moonlight.

HERA.

Whom do you suppose it to represent, Eros?

EROS.

"Represent" is an inadequate word. I know it to be, in some
transubstantiation, the exact nature of which I shall have to
investigate, my adored and injured Psyche. You never appreciated
her, Hera.

HERA.

It was necessary in such a society as ours to preserve the
hierarchical distinctions. She was a charming little creature, and
I never allowed myself to indulge in the violent prejudice of your
mother. When you presented her at last, I do not think that you
had any reason to reproach me with want of civility.

[_The butterfly dances off._]

HERA _and_ EROS _together_.

It is gone.

[_A pause._]

HERA.

We are in a curious dilemma. Unless we are to conceive that two
of the lesser Olympians have been able to combine in adopting a
symbolic disguise, either you or I have been deceived. That
tantalising visitant can scarcely have been at the same time Psyche
and my peacock.

EROS.

I know not why; and for my part am perfectly willing to recognise
its spots and moons to your satisfaction, if you will permit me to
recognise my own favourite in the garb of grief.

HERA.

My bird was ever a masquerader--it may be so.

EROS.

Psyche, also, was not unaccustomed to disguises.

HERA.

You take the recollection coolly, Eros.

EROS.

Would you have me shriek and moan? Would you have me throw myself
in convulsive ecstasy upon that ambiguous insect? You are not the
first, Hera, who has gravely misunderstood my character. I am
not, I have never been, a victim of the impulsive passions. The
only serious misunderstandings which I have ever had with my
illustrious mother have resulted from her lack of comprehension
of this fact. _She_ is impulsive, if you will! Her existence has
been a succession of centrifugal adventures, in which her sole
idea has been to hurl herself ou