You need a mate, friend; not a mystery.”
“A mate,” I said, “but she for whims could waive
The truth whereto was anchor’d all my soul.”
LVI.
Still Elbert parried me: “To hear you prate
Of truth—with women!—Why, you tried that once,
With Edith, not so?—and she liked it, eh?
Herself had love for that same truth?—What then?—
How very strange, when yesterday she pass’d,
She craved no more of it.”