She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. “The wrappered life-discipline! One comes to that at last. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her.
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