Texel, a girl all running to seed like a shot stalk of rhubarb, who would
end up in the neighborhood of six foot in height, and just that "fine
figure of a woman" which I never could abide.

"_Feech_!" I would say, copying her Wendish expression. "I would as soon
set my feather bolster on end, paint it black and white, and make love to
it as to Katrin Texel."

"You do worse every day of your life," retorted Helene, with pretty
spite, tapping the floor with the point of one delicate foot.

"And, pray, what do I that is worse?" I said, knowing full well what.

The Little Playmate was silent a minute, only continuing to tap the flags
with a kind of naughtiness that became her.

"Katrin Texel would not look at you, charming as you think yourself," she
said, at last.

"Did she tell you so, Little Sister?" said I, drawing a bow at a
great venture.

The arrow struck, and I was content.

"Well," she answered, somewhat breathlessly, "what if she did? Surely
even your vanity can take nothing out of a girl saying that she cannot
abide you."

But I answered nothing to this, only stroked the mustache which was
beginning to thrive admirably on my upper lip.