I was enchanted. How few are the times when my friend Annabel Lee is like this, warm and friendly and lightly contemptuous and inclined to grotesquerie. ’Tis so that she becomes human and someway near to me. “Yes, I should say Mary MacLane, and Mary MacLane, and Mary MacLane, and me,” said my friend Annabel Lee from her gently-puffed clouds. “There are times when you are soft and satisfying as a gray pussy-cat. If I stroke you, you will purr. If I give you cream, you will lap it up. And then you will curl up warmly in my lap and sleep and purr and open and shut your little fur paws. ‘I will sit by the fire And give her some food, And pussy will love me Because I am good.’ What literature is more literature than Mother Goose?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “And will you love me--because I am good? Has it occurred to you that you must love what is good and because it is good, you poor, miserable, little rat,--and that you must hate what is evil? Look at me, look at me!--am I good?” I looked at her. Certainly she was good. Just then she had a look of angels. “Do you love me?” said my friend Annabel Lee, with her cigarette. “Oh, yes,” said I. “Look at me again--am I evil?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “I presume you are,” I replied, for then she looked vindictive and vicious. “And do you hate me?” “No,” said I. “Then you are very bad and wicked yourself, you poor, miserable, little rat,” said my friend Annabel Lee, with her cigarette, “and the world and all good people will condemn you.” “I fear,” said I, with my cigarette, “that the world and all good people already do that.” “Ah, do they!” said my friend Annabel Lee. “Never mind--I will take care of you, you poor, miserable, little rat; I will make all soft for you; I will keep out the cold; I will color the dullness; I will fight off the mob.” “And I,” I replied, “if for that reason you do so, will thank the world and all good people for condemning me.” “That was neatly said,” said my friend Annabel Lee. “But let me tell you, when the world grows soft, I will grow hard--hard as nails.” “Then let the world stay hard,” I said--“hard and bitter as wormwood, if it will, so that you come indeed thus friendly to me through these gray clouds.” “That, too, was very neat,” said my friend Annabel Lee; “but mostly it goes to show that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. What literature is more literature than the proverbs? What is a bird in the hand worth?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “Two in the bush,” said I. “Where does charity begin?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “At home,” said I. “What does it cover?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “A multitude of sins,” said I. “What’s a miss as good as?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “A mile,” said I. “What makes the mare go?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “Money,” said I. “Whom does conscience make cowards of?” said my friend Annabel Lee. “Us all,” said I. “What does a stitch in time save?” said my friend Annabel Lee.