Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. Worse than any man. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. My engagement at the ‘Garrick’ terminates Saturday week, and then I am free. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. She slipped her hand between them and grasped his erection.
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