rubbing salt into his
smarting wounds, "Mr. Flint, I am so glad all the girls like you so
much. You fascinate them. They say you are such a profoundly clever
and interesting man, Mr. Flint! Why, some of those girls are perfectly
demented about you!"

"Demented," said he, darkly, "is the right word for them when it comes
down to fussing about _me_." Now Laurence had just caught him in his
rooms, and, declaring that he looked overworked and pale, had dragged
him forcibly outside on the porch, where we were now sitting. Mary
Virginia, in a white skirt, sport coat, and a white felt hat which
made her entrancingly pretty, had been visiting my mother and now
strolled over to John Flint's, after her old fashion.

"I feel like making the greatest sort of a fuss about you myself," she
said honestly. "Anyhow, I'm mighty glad girls like you. It's a good
sign."

"If they do--though God knows I can't see why--I'm obliged to them,
seeing it pleases _you_!" said Flint, without, however, showing much
gratitude in eyes or voice. "To tell you the truth, it looks to me at
times as if they were wished on me."

Mary Virginia tried to look horrified, and giggled instead.

"If I could only make any of them understand anything!" said the
Butterfly Man desperately, "but I can't. If only they really wanted to
know, I'd be more than glad to teach them. But they don't. I show them
and show them and tell them and tell them, over and over and over
again, and the same thing five minutes later, and they haven't even
listened! They don't care. What do they take up my time and say they
like my butterflies for, when they don't like them at all and don't
want to know anything about them? That's what gets me!"

Laurence winked at Mary Virginia, shamelessly.

"Bugs!" said he, inelegantly. "That's what's intended to get you, you
old duffer!"

"Mr. Flint," said Mary Virginia, with dancing eyes. "I don't blame
those girls one single solitary bit for wanting to know all
about--butterflies."

"But they don't want to know, I tell you!" Mr. Flint's voice rose
querulously.

"My dear creature, I'd be stuck on you myself if I were a girl," said
Laurence sweetly. "Padre, prepare yourself to say, 'Bless you, my
children!' I see this innocent's finish." And he began to sing, in a
lackadaisical manner, through his nose:

"Now you're married you must obey,
You must be true to all you say,
Live together all your life--"

No answering smile