from its duty err'd,
And the soft compliance of love forgot?

There _can_ be no question 'twixt wrong and right;
And surely we all can be brave and strong;
Yet I seem a little perplex'd to-night,
And hardly to know what _is_ right or wrong.

I'm very young to be anyone's wife,
And to know about serious things like these--
Must my little hand touch my husband's life
With a thought of something _more_ than to please?

What shall I do with this ghost of a care
That makes my silly heart flutter and sink?
I will first kneel down and will say a prayer,
And then I'll ask Harry what I should think!

Harry stalk'd into my room in a rage--
'Hilton and Wilton have clear'd me out quite;
A run of ill luck at every stage--
Fifty pounds lost since you left us to-night!
I'll have my revenge on the rogues I vow!'
Marks of strange anger disfigure his face,
A dry parch'd lip and a thundery brow,
And a sharp bright eye that has lost its grace.

So a lov'd little hand comes smoothing down--
Wandering kisses can anger eclipse;
The beautiful forehead has ceased to frown,
And sweet is the kiss I find on my lips.

'Ah, dearest,' I whisper, 'mourn not for this,
On a summer day with a heap of flowers;
This cannot be sorrow, or if it is,
It is a sorrow that cannot be ours.'

All the strange passion had vanish'd, I ween;
The Harry I knew had come back again;
And on his sweet face I had never seen
A sweeter smile than illumin'd it then.

With smiles he caress'd me: 'you little thing--
You dear little thing,' he tenderly said;
'We have banish'd you by the cards we bring;
Let us banish cards and have you instead.'

I clapp'd my hands, and my heart beat light,
As I softly whisper'd, 'Indeed you may,
For I'm certain, Harry, it is not RIGHT
To spend so much money and time at play.'

He gave me an odd little look askance,
And mutter'd, 'A man must do something though;'
I answer'd the look with a loving glance,
'But the something need not be cards, you know;
There is plenty to do before we die,
That may suit a gay and a careless mood;
We are _so_ happy, Harry, you and I,
That I think we ought to be ever so good.
Playing at cards for money, I'm clear,
Is an alien thing in beautiful lives'--
He grumbled, 'The fellows will think me queer;
But then the poor fellows have _not_ got wives.'
We talk'd the matter delightfully