grocer's
young man. It was one of the most humiliating sensations I have
experienced. I think I have seen the individual--a thick-set,
red-headed, freckled nondescript.

"What did you do it for?" I asked.

"He wanted to make love to me," replied Carlotta.

"He is a young scamp," said I.

"What is a scamp?" she asked sweetly.

"I am not giving you a lesson in philology," I remarked. "Do you know
that you have been behaving in a shocking manner?"

"Now you are cross with me."

"Yes," I said, "infernally angry."

And I was. I expected to see her burst into tears. She did nothing of
the kind; only looked at me with irritating demureness. She wore a red
blouse and a grey skirt, and the audacious high-heeled red slippers. I
began to feel the return of my early prejudice against her. Nobody so
alluring could possess a spark of virtue.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said I. "I make many allowances
for your lack of knowledge of our Western customs, but for a young
lady to flirt with an ugly red-headed varlet of the lower orders is
reprehensible all the world over."

"He gave me dates and dried fruits with sugar all over them," said
Carlotta.

"Stolen from his employer," I said. "I will have that young man locked
up in prison, and if you go on receiving his feloniously obtained
presents they will put you in prison too, and I shall be delighted."

Carlotta maintained her demure expression and extracted from her skirt
pocket a very dirty piece of paper.

"He writes poetry--about me," she remarked, handing me what I recognised
as the three-cornered note.

I took the thing between finger and thumb, and glanced over the poem. I
have read much indifferent modern verse in my time--I sometimes take
a slush-bath after tea at the club--but I could not have imagined the
English language capable of such emulsion. It was execrable. The first
couplet alone contained an idea.

"Thou art a lovely girl and so very nice
I dream till death upon your face."

To the wretch's ear it was a rhyme! I destroyed the noisome thing and
cast it into the waste-paper basket.

"Prison," said I, "would be a luxurious reward for him. In a properly
civilised country he would be bastinadoed and hanged."

"Yes, he is dam bad," said Carlotta, serenely.

"Good heavens!" I cried, "the ruffian has even taught you to swear. If
you dare to say that wicked word again, I'll punish you severely. What
is his horrid n