“Well said!” I thought. “Disown it, though she may,
This maiden’s mood is manlier than she deems”;
And, as with manhood, so my wits went forth
To find a way to test her further still.
Just then the sister of Elbert, gesturing toward
The sister of Edith, Alice, whom she fetch’d,
Cried, half-way introducing us, “My fan!”
I stoop’d, and pick’d it up. Then, bowing low,
“Your humble slave,” I said. “You know, some claim
That genuine friends of either sex are slaves;
And only want of love would snatch a whip,
And snapping it, cry out: ‘This way—serve me.’”
“And I, like them,” said Edith, slightly flush’d,
“Seem wholly loveless. You may mourn it less
That yonder carriage waits me. For to-day,
All thanks for coming! We may meet once more.”