Not the least, little tiny speck of it.
I talked and laughed, but as he went away
I said, “You’ll get a letter, Alfred Gray.”
And that was all I said, except, of course, “Good-bye,”
But after he was gone—I don’t know why—
I angry grew and wrote that letter then.
I told him what I thought of all the men,
And ’bout him calling on my Cousin Kate;
Said I, “It isn’t jealousy, but hate,
That prompts me now to write to you this way,