"You would tell me that you know; that you have gone unveiled and seen clear-eyed; that without placing more than lips to the brim you have divined the taste of the dregs, and that the taste is good.

Bah! The whelpage love! And, oh, Frona, I know; you are full womanly and broad, and lend no ear to little things, but"-- she tapped a slender finger to forehead--"it is all here.

It is a heady brew, and you have smelled the fumes overmuch.

But drain the dregs, turn down the glass, and say that it is good.

No, God forbid!" she cried, passionately.
"There are good loves.