"Beauty was hers in dower, such as earth
Doth rarely reckon 'mid her fading things:
A glory lit her tears, and in her mirth
Shook the sweet laughter of translucent springs."
Already an adept in coquetry, she sighed at once for a victim for her charms. Alas! she found him near.
"Are there any new people?" she asked of Mattie.
"Only Earle Moray."
"Eh? A decent sounding name. Who is he?"
"A poet and a gentleman," cried Mattie, enthusiastically.
"A poet? Poets live, I understand, in garrets."
"But Earle has some money," said Mattie, simply.
"Earle? So? You seem to know him rather well."
Poor Mattie blushed crimson.