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He
told
her
,
and
I
understand
that
she
pretended
to
be
indignant
.
When
I
pass
her
in
the
street
now
she
pouts
.
Clearly
preparing
for
our
meeting
.
She
has
also
said
,
I
learn
,
that
I
shall
not
think
so
much
of
her
when
she
is
fifty-two
,
meaning
that
she
will
not
be
so
pretty
then
.
So
little
does
the
sex
know
of
beauty
.
Surely
a
spirited
old
lady
may
be
the
prettiest
sight
in
the
world
.
For
my
part
,
I
confess
that
it
is
they
,
and
not
the
young
ones
,
who
have
ever
been
my
undoing
.
Just
as
I
was
about
to
fall
in
love
I
suddenly
found
that
I
preferred
the
mother
.
Indeed
,
I
can
not
see
a
likely
young
creature
without
impatiently
considering
her
chances
for
,
say
,
fifty-two
.
Oh
,
you
mysterious
girls
,
when
you
are
fifty-two
we
shall
find
you
out
;
you
must
come
into
the
open
then
.
If
the
mouth
has
fallen
sourly
yours
the
blame
:
all
the
meannesses
your
youth
concealed
have
been
gathering
in
your
face
.
But
the
pretty
thoughts
and
sweet
ways
and
dear
,
forgotten
kindnesses
linger
there
also
,
to
bloom
in
your
twilight
like
evening
primroses
.
Is
it
not
strange
that
,
though
I
talk
thus
plainly
to
David
about
his
mother
,
he
still
seems
to
think
me
fond
of
her
?
How
now
,
I
reflect
,
what
sort
of
bumpkin
is
this
,
and
perhaps
I
say
to
him
cruelly
:
"
Boy
,
you
are
uncommonly
like
your
mother
.
"
To
which
David
:
"
Is
that
why
you
are
so
kind
to
me
?
"
I
suppose
I
am
kind
to
him
,
but
if
so
it
is
not
for
love
of
his
mother
,
but
because
he
sometimes
calls
me
father
.
On
my
honour
as
a
soldier
,
there
is
nothing
more
in
it
than
that
.
I
must
not
let
him
know
this
,
for
it
would
make
him
conscious
,
and
so
break
the
spell
that
binds
him
and
me
together
.
Oftenest
I
am
but
Captain
W
--
--
to
him
,
and
for
the
best
of
reasons
.
He
addresses
me
as
father
when
he
is
in
a
hurry
only
,
and
never
have
I
dared
ask
him
to
use
the
name
.
He
says
,
"
Come
,
father
,
"
with
an
accursed
beautiful
carelessness
.
So
let
it
be
,
David
,
for
a
little
while
longer
.
I
like
to
hear
him
say
it
before
others
,
as
in
shops
.
When
in
shops
he
asks
the
salesman
how
much
money
he
makes
in
a
day
,
and
which
drawer
he
keeps
it
in
,
and
why
his
hair
is
red
,
and
does
he
like
Achilles
,
of
whom
David
has
lately
heard
,
and
is
so
enamoured
that
he
wants
to
die
to
meet
him
.
At
such
times
the
shopkeepers
accept
me
as
his
father
,
and
I
can
not
explain
the
peculiar
pleasure
this
gives
me
.
I
am
always
in
two
minds
then
,
to
linger
that
we
may
have
more
of
it
,
and
to
snatch
him
away
before
he
volunteers
the
information
,
"
He
is
not
really
my
father
.
"
When
David
meets
Achilles
I
know
what
will
happen
.
The
little
boy
will
take
the
hero
by
the
hand
,
call
him
father
,
and
drag
him
away
to
some
Round
Pond
.
One
day
,
when
David
was
about
five
,
I
sent
him
the
following
letter
:
"
Dear
David
:
If
you
really
want
to
know
how
it
began
,
will
you
come
and
have
a
chop
with
me
to-day
at
the
club
?
"
Mary
,
who
,
I
have
found
out
,
opens
all
his
letters
,
gave
her
consent
,
and
,
I
doubt
not
,
instructed
him
to
pay
heed
to
what
happened
so
that
he
might
repeat
it
to
her
,
for
despite
her
curiosity
she
knows
not
how
it
began
herself
.
I
chuckled
,
guessing
that
she
expected
something
romantic
.
