A Satellite Ladies mistrust,
To the skin she is terribly tryin’,
And makes one’s complexion like dust.
Red, freckled, or dingy as dust—
Nay, tanned like the tawny-maned Lion.”
“What nonsense!” cried I, in disgust.
Sukey sobbed, “You’re unjust, you’re unjust!
And carry a moonshade I must!”
Then I melted, and tried to look pleasant,
And tempted her out ’neath the moon!