Lightly kissing her last lover!”
They laughed, interrupting Clive as he began on the next stanza, and then they stopped, waiting for him to go on. They exchanged a swift glance, wondering if this was the girl of the story they had heard.
“I forget just how it goes,” he said confusedly. “But it ends something like this—
“She is dead: it were a pity
To o’erpraise her, or to flout her.
She was wild and sweet and witty—
Let’s not say dull things about her.”
Having finished, he began to poke the fire.
“A lovely poem,” said Rose-Ann softly.
“But,” said Felix vigorously, “it doesn’t discourage me a bit. I think Rose-Ann can be just as wild and sweet and witty after marriage as before. Her individuality, if that is what you’re worrying about, is not in the least danger of being buried by marriage.”