Because, if women never see the serpent's face, neither do they ever scent the smell of the paradise roses; and it will be hard for you to die without a single rose d'amour in your pretty breast, poor little Bebee ?" "I do not understand.

But you frighten me a little." He rose and left his easel and threw himself at her feet on the grass; he took the little wooden shoes in his hands as reverently as he would have taken the broidered shoes of a duchess; he looked up at her with tender, smiling eyes.
"Poor little Bebee!" he said again.

"Did I frighten you indeed?
Nay, that was very base of me.

We will not spoil our summer holiday.

There is no such thing as a fiend, my dear.