The old lady flung it into the fire; she sat down in her armchair and watched it burn.
Noll smiled:
“Ah, Mrs. Gomme—when a man is in love with a woman he does not write poetry about it—he does it. When a man writes poetry about love, he is not in love with love, but with reputation.”
The old lady shook her head grimly:
“If it began like that,” said she, unheeding of arguments, and jealous, brooding still—“what must the rest have been like?”
Noll laughed, and put his hand on the old lady’s shoulder:
“Ah! Mrs. Gomme—the girl has probably followed your example—you see, the last generation set such a bad example in these things....”