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"The Flower Girl" appears in outer niches of the attic cloister of the court bearing her name, the Court of Flowers. A light garlanded mantle falls like a petal from her shoulders, the floating edge following the line of the nymph's divided hair, so that the maiden seems more like a flower itself than a flowerbearer.
And he said: "You had better understand what you are to me all that I shall never know again; there it is in that nymph's face. Oh, no! not YOUR face. And there am I struggling through slime to reach you not MY face, of course." She said: "Poor face!" then covered her own. Was she going to cry, and torture him still more?
She could fancy it was a nymph's cave, she said. "Yes, ma Marie, I will play Calypso, and you shall play Telemachus, and Dr. H. shall be Mentor. Mentor was so very, very good! only a little bit dull," she said, pronouncing the last word with a wicked accent, and lifting her hands with a whimsical gesture like a naughty child who expects a correction.
Then, at last, one nymph's soft heart grew tender and pitiful towards me, and Echo, hardly waiting till I had completed my sentence, answered: "Somewhere Else." A wild thrill of joy ran through me. At last I had found the solution of the haunting puzzle. Somewhere Else. That was it. Not Scotland, nor Switzerland, nor Japan. None of the common places of travel. But Somewhere Else.
Miss Price was short and thick, and consequently no dancer, the Duke of Buckingham, who brought Brisacier forward as often as he could, came to desire him, on the part of the king, to dance with Miss Blague, without knowing what was then passing in this nymph's heart: Brisacier excused himself, on account of the contempt that he had for country dances: Miss Blague thought that it was herself that he despised; and, seeing that he was engaged in conversation with her mortal enemy, she began to dance, without knowing what she was doing.
Judging indeed from the light and easy deportment of this gay Nymph; one might guess there were good reasons for a change of name as she changed her residence. But of all vices there is none we abhor more than that of slanderous insinuation. We shall therefore confine our moral strictures to the Nymph's mother; in whose defence the Poet has little to say himself.
Elena expectantly waited for his love; and at night, turning her blazing face and loosened locks in the direction of the nymph's laughter, she would whisper: "I love you, I love you, I love you!"
The cave is in the form of a cross, 92 ft. long and 164 ft. broad, with stalactites and stalagmites. In the middle is a pond called "The Nymph's Bath," with slightly acidulated and intensely cold water. A legend, which goes back to the tenth century, says that a dragon lived here, going out at night and slaughtering men and women.
But Mysie was now on her guard, and, conscious of the vicinity of the wood-hole, offered such strenuous resistance, that the swain cursed the nymph's bad humour with very unpastoral phrase and emphasis, and ran up stairs to relieve the guard of his comrade.
His nerves must be steady for him to finish a rose-leaf or the fold of a nymph's drapery in his best manner; and they will be unsteadied if he has to perform the honest drudgery which another can do for him quite as well.
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