My elder by a year or more.
A little child of beauty rare,
With marvellous eyes and wondrous hair,
Who, in my child-eyes, seemed to me
All that a little child should be.
Ah, how we loved, that child and I,
How pure our baby joy!
How true our love—and, by-the-by,
He was a little boy!"
Waring, as "Angela" struck in with a deep, reproachful bass: