“To save your fame? Your meaning is dim,
For nobody knew of your altar-whim?”
“I mean—I feared
There might be fruit of my tie with him;
“And to cloak it by marriage I’m not the first,
Though, maybe, morally most accurst
Through your unpeered
And strict uprightness. That’s the worst!
“While yesterday his worn contours
Convinced me that love like his endures,
And that my troth-plight
Had been his, in fact, and not truly yours.”
“So, my lady, you raise the veil by degrees . . .
I own this last is enough to freeze
The warmest wight!
Now hear the other side, if you please:
“I did say once, though without intent,
That marriage is a plain event
Of black and white,
Whatever may be its sentiment.
“I’ll act accordingly, none the less
That you soiled the contract in time of stress,
Thereto induced
By the feared results of your wantonness.
“But the thing is over, and no one knows,
And it’s nought to the future what you disclose.
That you’ll be loosed
For such an episode, don’t suppose!
“No: I’ll not free you. And if it appear
There was too good ground for your first fear
From your amorous tricks,
I’ll father the child. Yes, by God, my dear.
“Even should you fly to his arms, I’ll damn
Opinion, and fetch you; treat as sham
Your mutinous kicks,
And whip you home. That’s the sort I am!”
She whitened. “Enough . . . Since you disapprove
I’ll yield in silence, and never move
Till my last pulse ticks
A footstep from the domestic groove.”