_He_: Well, how many conquests? I fancy a score
By the flush on your cheeks and your shoulders.
_She_: A bore!
_He_: Oh, nonsense; a debutante just out of school
Who can rule with a smile what a king could not rule,
From young Harry, her prince, to myself, her poor fool!
Come, tell me, did Harry propose?
_She_: What a goose
You would think me to tell you, and then of what use
Could it be?
_He_: Well, it might give me hope, where before
There was none,--quite a boon from the lips you adore
When you 're hungry for love.
_She (coquetting)_: Or who knows but it might--
_He_: Yes, it might blot from life every semblance of light
As the clouds blot the moon on a storm-troubled night.
But tell me.
_She_: He did.
_He_: And your answer was?
_She_: No.
_He_: You mean it, or are you coquetting yet?
_She_: Oh!
I just told him I cared for another--he smiled.
It was merely to him so much pleasure beguiled
From a girl. Charge it up profit?--loss?--tell me which?
He thinks I am pretty, they say, but, not rich.
He would love me, perhaps, for a season or two,
So I told him that I loved another.
_He_: And who?
_She (archly)_: Really, must I tell _you?_
_He_: No--your finger--yes, this!
A solitaire--done! and now quickly!
_She (feigning reluctance)_: One!
_He (ecstatically)_: Kiss.
Why he asked for a Vacation.
"Dear Jack:
It's delightfully gay here,--
Old Paris seemed never so fine,--
And mamma says we're going to stay here,
And papa--well, papa sips his wine
And says nothing. You know him of old, dear.
He's only too happy to rest,--
After making three millions in gold, dear.
He's played out, it must be confessed,--
And I--I'm to wed an old Baron
Three weeks from to-day, in great style
(He's as homely and gaunt as old Charon,
And they say that his past has been vile);
And I've promised to cut you hereafter,--
Small chance, though, we ever shall meet,--
So let's turn our old love into laughter,
And face the thing through. Shall we, sweet?
Can you give me up, Jack, to this _roué_,
Just because we may always be poor?
There's still enough time, dear, _et tu es_
_Un brave_,--you will come, I am sure.
Put your trunk on the swiftest Cunarder,
And don't give me up, Jack, for--well,
There are things in this world that are harder
Than poverty. Come to me!