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. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. “Just forget it, Lucy! Keep your secrets to yourself!” He stomped out, slamming the heavily paneled oak door. “There is some mystery about you both,” he exclaimed, with sudden earnestness. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her.
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