The old days when I loved him, and was poor?
Ah, why! Fool, fool—to ask one that.
I love him still, I think. Sometimes he comes
And takes me off to Paris for a week;
Flatters himself I’m “doing well at last”;
That he’s not brought me harm; but, rather, good.
It ought to be enough! And yet, and yet—
You see I’m thirty-five, and I’ve no child....
True, I’ve the shares in “Malise Limited,”
And that’s worth fifteen hundred solid pounds a year....