Though often in the selfsame week they met,
They were n’t exactly in the selfsame set,
And could not know each other. One, I think,
Was done in wash; the other, pen and ink.
The wash lady (again there’s no offence—
I use “wash” in its pure artistic sense)
Was a brunette, vivacious, charming wholly;
Neither too slim, nor yet too rolly-poly.
A dazzling smile had this enchanting creature;
Indeed, her most predominating feature