Lucile By Owen Meredith [i.e. E. R. B. Lytton] |
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XXVI.
I find myself terribly puzzled to tell
The feelings with which Alfred Vargrave flung down
This note, as he pour'd out his wine. I must own
That I think he, himself, could have hardly explain'd
Those feelings exactly.
The feelings with which Alfred Vargrave flung down
This note, as he pour'd out his wine. I must own
That I think he, himself, could have hardly explain'd
Those feelings exactly.
‘Yes, yes,’ as he drain'd
The glass down, he mutter'd, ‘Jack's right, after all:
‘The coquette!’
The glass down, he mutter'd, ‘Jack's right, after all:
‘The coquette!’
‘Does milord mean to go to the ball?’
Ask'd the waiter, who linger'd.
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‘Perhaps. I don't know
‘You may keep me a ticket, in case I should go.’
‘You may keep me a ticket, in case I should go.’
| Lucile | |