fly, but you
shan't.

"Armand: nobody respects Holy Orders more than I do: but there isn't
anybody alive going to get born or baptized or married or buried, or
anything else, in this parish, on that one afternoon. If they are
selfish enough to do it anyhow, why, they can do it without your
assistance. You are going to stay home with me: both of you."

"My _dear_ mother--"

"Good Lord! Madame--"

"I am not to be dearmothered nor goodlorded! Heaven knows I ask little
enough of either of you. _I_ am at _your_ beck and call, every day in
the year. It does seem to me that when I wish to be civilized, and
return for once some of the attentions I have received from my
friends, I might at least depend upon you two for one little
afternoon!" Could anything be more artfully unanswerable?

"Oh, but Madame--" began Flint, horrified by such an insinuation as
his unwillingness to do anything at any time for this adored lady.

"Particularly," continued my mother, inexorably, "when I have your
best interest at heart, too, John Flint! Monsieur the Butterfly Man,
you will please to remember that you are a member of my household. You
are almost like a son to me. You are the apple of that foolish
Armand's eye--do not look so astounded, it is true! Also, you will
have a great name some of these days. So far, so good. But--you are
making the grievous error of shunning society, particularly the
society of women. This is wrong; it makes for queerness, it evolves
the 'crank,' it spoils many an otherwise very nice man."

Flint sagged in his chair, and clasped and unclasped his hands, which
trembled visibly. Madame regarded him without pity, with even a touch
of scorn.

"Yes, it is indeed high time to reclaim you!" she decided, with the
fearsome zeal of the female reformer of a man. "You silly man, you!
Have you no proper pride? Have you absolutely no idea of your own
worth? Well, then, if you haven't, _I_ have. You _shall_ take your
place and play your part!"

"But," said Flint, and a gleam of hope irradiated his stricken face,
"but I don't think I've got the clothes to wear to parties. And I
really can't afford to spend any more money right now, either. I spent
a lot on that old 1797 Abbot & Smith's 'Natural History of the Rarer
Lepidopterous Insects of Georgia.' It cost like the dickens, although
I really got it for about half what it's worth. I had to take it when
I got the chance, and I'd be willing to wear gunny-sacking for a y