Chapter LVII

And so we talk’d.
I never thought it meant much; for we talk’d
Of all things, almost; and, in play, at times,
Would I indulge in hopes that he was right.
Once too, far up in clouds, my fancy feign’d
To question if her friends, or she, would wish
My calling to be hers. I scarce had dream’d
Of Elbert’s giving weight to whims like this.
Yet after that I mark’d him much with Grace;
But naught surmised until, one time, he said:

“All right, my Norman; I have talk’d with her;
All but to tell her why I talk’d with her;
And with her parents talk’d, and now they all
Agree in praising plans of life like yours;
These latter actually sighing oft,
‘Would we but had a son for work like that!’
So, friend, your way is clear.”