no heart.  I said she had no reason.
     I swore she talk'd nonsense.  She sobb'd I talk'd treason.
     In short, my dear fellow, 'twas time, as you see,
     Things should come to a crisis, and finish.  'Twas she
     By whom to that crisis the matter was brought.
     She released me.  I linger'd.  I linger'd, she thought,
     With too sullen an aspect.  This gave me, of course,
     The occasion to fly in a rage, mount my horse,
     And declare myself uncomprehended.  And so
     We parted.  The rest of the story you know.

     JOHN.

     No, indeed.

     ALFRED.

                 Well, we parted.  Of course we could not
     Continue to meet, as before, in one spot.
     You conceive it was awkward?  Even Don Ferdinando
     Can do, you remember, no more than he can do.
     I think that I acted exceedingly well,
     Considering the time when this rupture befell,
     For Paris was charming just then.  It deranged
     All my plans for the winter.  I ask'd to be changed—
     Wrote for Naples, then vacant—obtain'd it—and so
     Join'd my new post at once; but scarce reach'd it, when lo!
     My first news from Paris informs me Lucile
     Is ill, and in danger.  Conceive what I feel.
     I fly back.  I find her recover'd, but yet
     Looking pale.  I am seized with a contrite regret;
     I ask to renew the engagement.

     JOHN.

                                    And she?

     ALFRED.

     Reflects, but declines.  We part, swearing to be
     Friends ever, friends only.  All that sort of thing!
     We each keep our letters... a portrait... a ring...
     With a pledge to return them whenever the one
     Or the other shall call for them back.

     JOHN.

                                             Pray go on.

     ALFRED.

     My story is finish'd.  Of course I enjoin
     On Lucile all those thousand good maxims we coin
     To supply the grim deficit found in our days,
     When love leaves them bankrupt.  I preach.  She obeys.
     She goes out in the world; takes to dancing once more—
     A pleasure she rarely indulged in before.
     I go back to my post, and collect (I must own
     'Tis a taste I had never before, my dear John)
     Antiques and small Elzevirs.  Heigho! now, Jack,
     You know all.

     JOHN (after a pause).

                   You are really resolved to go back?

     ALFRED.

     Eh, where?

     JOHN.

                To that worst of all places—the past.
     You remember Lot's wife?

     ALFRED.

                             'Twas a promise when last
     We parted.  My honor is pledged to it.

     JOHN.

                                             Well,
     What is it you wish me to do?

     ALFRED.

                                    You must tell
     Matilda, I meant to have call'd—to leave word—
     To explain—but the time was so pressing—

     JOHN.

                                                  My lord,
     Your lordship's obedient!  I really can't do...

     ALFRED.

     You wish then to break off my marriage?