Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red."
"Good gracious! Don't gaze at me in that fashion. I don't look like a ghost, do I?" cried Iris, when near enough to note his rapt expression.
"You would not object if I called you a vision?" he inquired quietly, averting his eyes lest they should speak more plainly than his tongue.
"Not if you meant it nicely. But I fear that 'specter' would be a more appropriate word. V'la ma meilleure robe de sortie!"
She spread out the front widths of her skirt, and certainly the prospect was lamentable. The dress was so patched and mended, yet so full of fresh rents, that a respectable housemaid would hesitate before using it to clean fire-irons.
"Is that really your best dress?" he said.