I clapp'd my hands, and my heart beat light,
As I softly whisper'd, 'Indeed you may,
For I'm certain, Harry, it is not RIGHT
To spend so much money and time at play.'

He gave me an odd little look askance,
And mutter'd, 'A man must do something though;'
I answer'd the look with a loving glance,
'But the something need not be cards, you know;
There is plenty to do before we die,
That may suit a gay and a careless mood;
We are _so_ happy, Harry, you and I,
That I think we ought to be ever so good.
Playing at cards for money, I'm clear,
Is an alien thing in beautiful lives'--
He grumbled, 'The fellows will think me queer;
But then the poor fellows have _not_ got wives.'
We talk'd the matter delightfully out;
Our words were earnest and bright and free;
We twisted it round, we turn'd it about,
And we both agreed that it should not be.

'You are my angel,' he cried, with a kiss;
'I fear lest your wings are spreading to fly,'
And his angel I _ought_ to be, in this,
For 'tis he who is tempted, and not I.

O, women have no temptations at all;
They have only to keep their white lives white;
But men are so tempted, that men must fall--