"Between you and me
Heaven fixes a gulf, over which you must see
That our guardian angels can bear us no more.
We each of us stand on an opposite shore.
Trust a woman's opinion for once. Women learn,
By an instinct men never attain, to discern
Each other's true natures. Matilda is fair,
Matilda is young--see her now, sitting there!--
How tenderly fashion'd--(oh, is she not? say,)
To love and be loved!"

IV.

He turn'd sharply away--
"Matilda is young, and Matilda is fair;
Of all that you tell me pray deem me aware;
But Matilda's a statue, Matilda's a child;
Matilda loves not--"
Lucile quietly smiled
As she answer'd him--"Yesterday, all that you say
Might be true; it is false, wholly false, though, today."
"How?--what mean you?"
"I mean that to-day," she replied,
"The statue with life has become vivified:
I mean that the child to a woman has grown:
And that woman is jealous."
"What, she!" with a tone
Of ironical wonder, he answer'd--what, she!
She jealous!--Matilda!--of whom, pray?--not me!"
"My lord, you deceive yourself; no one but you
Is she jealous of. Trust me. And thank Heaven, too,
That so lately this passion within her hath grown.
For who shall declare, if for months she had known
What for days she has known all too keenly, I fear,
That knowledge perchance might have cost you more dear?"

"Explain! explain, madam!" he cried, in surprise;
And terror and anger enkindled his eyes.
"How blind are you men!" she replied. "Can you doubt
That a woman, young, fair, and neglected--"
"Speak out!"
He gasp'd with emotion. "Lucile! you mean--what!
Do you doubt her fidelity?"
"Certainly not.
Listen to me, my friend. What I wish to explain
Is so hard to shape forth. I could almost refrain
From touching a subject so fragile. However,
Bear with me awhile, if I frankly endeavor
To invade for one moment your innermost life.
Your honor, Lord Alfred, and that of your wife,
Are dear to me,--most dear! And I am convinced
That you rashly are risking that honor."