"And when will that be?"
"Oh!
In that blissful never,
When the Sundays come together,
When the sun and glorious weather
Wrap the earth in spring forever;
As in that past time olden,
Which poets call the golden."
Laughing.
"And so I have poetry, and inspire it myself—that is some compensation, certainly," said Mrs. Markham, smiling.
"I fear my verses have deepened my offence," said Bart, with affected gravity.
Kate Fisher intervened here: "Mr. Ridgeley, I have more cause for offence than even Mrs. Markham. Why didn't you come to my little party? I made it on your account."
"The offence was great," he answered, "but then staying away was ample punishment, as you must know."
"No, I don't know it. I know you weren't there, and your excuse was merely a regret, which always means one don't want to go."
"Oh, Mrs. Ford!" said Bart, "see what your coming here, or my coming here, exposes me to!"