Page:Maurine and Other Poems (1910).pdf/37

 None to recall—no pledges to be broken. “He will be grieved, then angry, cold, then cross,” I reasoned, thinking what would be his part In this strange drama. “Then, because he Feels something lacking, to make good his loss He’ll turn to Helen, and her gentle grace And loving acts will win her soon the place I hold to-day; and like a troubled dream At length, our past, when he looks back, will seem.”

That evening passed with music, chat, and song, But hours that once had flown on airy wings Now limped on weary, aching limbs along, Each moment like some dreaded step that brings A twinge of pain. As Vivian rose to go, Slow bending to me from his greater height, He took my hand, and, looking in my eyes, With tender questioning and pained surprise, Said, “Maurine, you are not yourself to-night; What is it? Are you ailing?” “Ailing? No,” I answered, laughing lightly, “I am not; Just see my cheek, sir—is it thin, or pale? Now, tell me, am I looking very frail?” “Nay, nay,” he answered, “it cannot be seen, The change I speak of—’twas more in your mien— Preoccupation, or—I know not what! Miss Helen, am I wrong, or does Maurine Seem to have something on her mind this eve?” “She does,” laughed Helen, “and I do believe I know what ’tis! A letter came to-day Which she read slyly, and then hid away Close to her heart, not knowing I was near, And since she’s been as you have seen her here. See how she blushes! so my random shot We must believe has struck a tender spot.”

Her rippling laughter floated through the room, And redder yet I felt the hot blood rise, Then surge away, to leave me pale as death Under the dark and swiftly gathering gloom Of Vivian’s questioning, accusing eyes, That searched my soul. I almost shrieked beneath That stern, fixed gaze, and stood spellbound until He turned with sudden movement, gave his hand