No More Learning

Now, Mary, we must make our yellow choice;
You've got good eyes; which do you fancy? --Jean!
What ails her?

_Jean_.
How she stares! which is the one
She singles out? That topmost boy it is,--
Pretty enough for a flaxen poll indeed.
Is that your lad, Mary?

_Katrina_.
She's ill or fey;
They are too much for her; and I truly
Am nearly weeping for them and their wives and lasses.
Her eyes don't budge! She's fastened on his face
With just the look that one would have to greet
The ghost of one's own self. See, all her blood
Is trapt in her heart,--pale she is as he.

_A Man in the Crowd_.
Can't you see she's fainting?
'Tis no sight
For halfling girls.

_Jean_.
Halfling yourself.

_Katrina_.
Mary!

_Mary_.
Let us go home now: help me there, Katrina.

_Katrina_.
Yes, dear, but are you ill?

_Mary_.
No: let us go home.

_Katrina (to Jean)_.
Come, Jean. Did you not hear her gasp? We must
Be with her on her way home.

_Jean_.