d, "is no reason. You smell a rose through a
fence:
If two should smell it, what matter? who grumbles, and where's the
pretence?"

VI.

"But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free,
To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me."

VII.

"Why, that," she said, "is no reason. Love's always free, I am
told.
Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it
will hold?"

VIII.

"But you," he replied, "have a daughter, a young little child, who
was laid
In your lap to be pure; so I leave you: the angels would make me
afraid."

IX.

"Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. The angels keep out of the
way;
And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me
and stay."

X.

At which he rose up in his anger,--"Why, now, you no longer are
fair!
Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and hateful, I swear."

XI.

At which she laughed out in her scorn: "These men! Oh, these men
overnice,
Who are shocked if a colour not virtuous is frankly put on by a
vice."

XII.

Her eyes blazed upon him--"And _you_! You bring us your vices so
near
That we smell them! You think in our presence a thought 't would
defame us to hear!

XIII.

"What reason had you, and what right,--I appeal to your soul from my
life,--
To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife.

XIV.

"Is the day-star too fair up above you? It burns you not. Dare you
imply
I brushed you more close than the star does, when Walter had set me
as high?

XV.

"If a man finds a woman too fair, he means simply adapted too much
To uses unlawful and fatal. The praise!--shall I thank you for
such?

XVI.

"Too fair?--not unless you misuse us! and surely if, once in a
while,
You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer too fair, but
too vile.

XVII.

"A moment,--I pray your attention!--I have a poor word in my head
I must utter, though womanly custom would set it down better
unsaid.

XVIII.

"You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a
ring.
You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter!--I've broken the
thing.

XIX.

"You did me the honour, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and