But, anon, a small spark is applied to the treacherous fusee--a cloud of dust arises to the heavens--and then nothing is to be seen but dirt and dust and ugly fragments.
We know what was the wrath of Juno when her beauty was despised.

We know to what storms of passion even celestial minds can yield.

As Juno may have looked at Paris on Mount Ida, so did Mrs.Proudie look on Ethelbert Stanhope when he pushed the leg of the sofa into her lace train.
"Oh, you idiot, Bertie!" said the signora, seeing what had been done and what were to be the consequences.
"Idiot!" re-echoed Mrs.Proudie, as though the word were not half strong enough to express the required meaning; "I'll let him know--" and then looking round to learn, at a glance, the worst, she saw that at present it behoved her to collect the scattered _debris_ of her dress.
Bertie, when he saw what he had done, rushed over the sofa and threw himself on one knee before the offended lady.

His object, doubtless, was to liberate the torn lace from the castor, but he looked as though he were imploring pardon from a goddess.
"Unhand it, sir!" said Mrs.Proudie.From what scrap of dramatic poetry she had extracted the word cannot be said, but it must have rested on her memory, and now seemed opportunely dignified for the occasion.
"I'll fly to the looms of the fairies to repair the damage, if you'll only forgive me," said Ethelbert, still on his knees.
"Unhand it, sir!" said Mrs.Proudie with redoubled emphasis, and all but furious wrath.

This allusion to the fairies was a direct mockery and intended to turn her into ridicule.