‘There were facts to tell,— To smooth with eye and accent. Howe supposed ... Well, well, no matter! there was dubious need; You heard the news from Vincent Carrington. And yet perhaps you had been startled less To see me, dear Aurora, if you had read That letter.’ —Now he sets me down as vexed. I think I’ve draped myself in woman’s pride To a perfect purpose. Oh, I’m vexed, it seems! My friend Lord Howe deputes his friend Sir Blaise, To break as softly as a sparrow’s egg That lets a bird out tenderly, the news Of Romney’s marriage to a certain saint; To _smooth with eye and accent_,—indicate His possible presence. Excellently well You’ve played your part, my Lady Waldemar,— As I’ve played mine. ‘Dear Romney,’ I began, ‘You did not use, of old, to be so like A Greek king coming from a taken Troy, ’Twas needful that precursors spread your path With three-piled carpets, to receive your foot And dull the sound of’t. For myself, be sure, Although it frankly ground the gravel here, I still could bear it. Yet I’m sorry, too, To lose this famous letter, which Sir Blaise Has twisted to a lighter absently To fire some holy taper with: Lord Howe Writes letters good for all things but to lose; And many a flower of London gossipry Has dropt wherever such a stem broke off,— Of course I know that, lonely among my vines, Where nothing’s talked of, save the blight again, And no more Chianti! Still the letter’s use As preparation ... Did I start indeed? Last night I started at a cockchafer, And shook a half-hour after. Have you learnt No more of women, ’spite of privilege, Than still to take account too seriously Of such weak flutterings? Why, we like it, sir,— We get our powers and our effects that way. The trees stand stiff and still at time of frost, If no wind tears them; but, let summer come, When trees are happy,—and a breath avails To set them trembling through a million leaves In luxury of emotion. Something less It takes to move a woman: let her start And shake at pleasure,—nor conclude at yours, The winter’s bitter,—but the summer’s green.’