"Good-b'ye, dear," said he; "forgive this trouble."
"It's none in the least in life, sir," said she.
And then—god of jealousy!—he kissed her.
"For shame, sir!" said Sarah. "You mustn't. I never permit it; never!"
And he kissed her again; on which she, having, I suppose, exhausted her stock of indignation in the speech already made, offered no observation. He skipped down stairs, and I heard her say, with a sigh, "What a nice man!"
The amorous thought rose softly over my mind. "Avaunt!" said I, "thou green-eyed monster; make way for Cupid, little god of love. Is my rump and my dozen yet lost? No. As the song says,
"When should lovers breathe their vows?
When should ladies hear them?
When the dew is on the boughs,
When none else is near them."