University of Virginia Library

'Twas windy, and so when he ceased
All hasted in, Kit first, ill-pleased
At the unconquered Ethel's fall
Which seemed almost prophetical.

I would have said all went but Lil,
Who braved discomfort and the chill,
To steal a tête-à-tête, and said,
“Is Ethel Kit?” He shook his head.
“For many reasons, no. Firstly,
'Twould be gross personality;
And secondly, while Ethel loved
Her beauty's due, Miss Johnstone's moved
By no such female weaknesses;
And thirdly, she affects the dress
Of gentlemen and manly sports,
While Ethel's foibles and fortes
Were feminine. No Amazon
Professed was she, but merely one
Of those proud high-bred English dames
Of families with ancient names
And great estates, who scorn to stoop
In marriage, but whose eyes look up
To some high union which time
Has in his hand for them, sublime
In their ambitions. They are right;
Why should a girl, at first invite,
Haste to throw heart and hand away,
The one trump-card she has to play?”
“But who was Nellie? Are all girls
Who don't aspire to dukes and earls
And premiers and millionaires
So easy in their love affairs
As Nell!” asked Lil, who thought, if so,
That her wings were a little slow,
And England certainly must be
A country of the brave and free,
And recollecting how she had,
While they were still a child and lad,
Enjoyed a romp of kiss and pet
With Ted, Kit's brother, fancied yet
That if such romps were etiquette
They might sometimes be very nice.
He answered with this sage advice
For one in the near neighbourhood
Of a fair girl with southern blood
And rosy lips and yielding mien,
That “Nells could not be often seen
Even in England, where Mammas
And Mrs Grundy and papas
Shut off the naughty and the nice
From girls with barriers of ice,
That romps at home as well as school
Were the exception not the rule,
But there were boys who would be boys
And girls who looked for other joys
Than church and fancy work and tea,
That Nells there were and needs must be
In every age, in every clime,
As long as there is space or time,
Nells who rejoice to cull the flower
Which grows on every passing hour.”
And then he pulled her on his knee
And kissed her, asking her if she
Had not been treated thus before,
And, she not struggling, gave her more
And added in a whisper “Lil,
Will you?” when she replied “I will”
And put her little hands in his
And held her lips up for a kiss.

Now mark the wit of womankind,
And learn that love is not so blind
As poets picture him to be,
For when Lil sought her bedroom she,
While still the gentlemen sat to
Their glass of water—and Lochdhu,
Called in her mother and confessed,
Entreating her to do her best
To win her father to her choice,
Pleading with that sweet gentle voice
Which won all hearers to her part.
Now Helen had a tender heart,
And her ten yearning years of troth
Tended to make her very loath
Her children's longings to postpone
A single month: and Lil was one
To give her much anxiety.
She was so pretty and so free
From guile as well as self-restraint,
And he would have to be a saint
Who scorned her gentle glowing charms
And shrank from her extended arms.

She had been wooed three times before,
And each time thrown the wooer o'er
With much reluctance—souls of make
Like hers love Love for its own sake.
Her other lovers had been men
As much drawn by the hope of gain
In marrying the squatter's child
As by the face which on them smiled;
But the Professor had a clear
Six or eight hundred pounds a year
Of salary, e'en suppose he had
No penny of his own to add,
A sum with which as bachelor
He certainly could do much more,
Than married with as much again.
That he was capable was plain
From his appointment: and his mind
Seemed honourable, broad, and kind:
He was nice-looking in the face,
And gentlemanly in his ways,
And ‘Chesterfield’ had said that he
Came of a good old family.
Then Lily seemed so fond of him,
And, if it was no passing whim
But an absorbing love . . . . . . . (and she
Owned to a sensibility
Herself of the Professor's charm).
Nor was Lil kept in long alarm,
For, when her father came to bed,
The mother for the daughter pled
So winningly that his consent
Was granted her incontinent,
Subject to conversation due
Upon the morrow with the two.
Kind Helen, far too kind to keep
A darling daughter from her sleep
With doubt and trembling on a theme
So near her heart as this would seem,
Stole to her bedroom on tip-toe,
Her prayer's success to let her know.