To Dwellers In A Wood, Almost Every

I. At Tea The Kettle Descants In A Cosy Drone, And The Young Wife Looks In Her Husband's Face, And Then In Her Guest's, And Shows In Her Own Her Sense That She Fills An Envied Place; And The Visiting Lady Is All Abloom, And Says There Was Never So Sweet A Room. And The Happy Young Housewife Does Not Know That The Woman Beside Her Was His First Choice, Till The Fates Ordained It Could Not Be So.... Betraying Nothing In Look Or Voice The Guest Sits Smiling And Sips Her Tea, And He Throws Her A Stray Glance Yearningly.

Her Affection For Him Was Now The Breath And Life Of Tess's Being; It Enveloped Her As A Photosphere, Irradiated Her Into Forgetfulness Of Her Past Sorrows, Keeping Back The Gloomy Spectres That Would Persist In Their Attempts To Touch Her—doubt, Fear, Moodiness, Care, Shame. She Knew That They Were Waiting Like Wolves Just Outside The Circumscribing Light, But She Had Long Spells Of Power To Keep Them In Hungry Subjection There.

A Lover Without Indiscretion Is No Lover At All.

The Perfect Woman, You See [is] A Working-woman; Not An Idler; Not A Fine Lady; But One Who [uses] Her Hands And Her Head And Her Heart For The Good Of Others.

I Shall Do One Thing In This Life-one Thing Certain-this Is, Love You, And Long Of You, And Keep Wanting You Till I Die.