A last word in the vestibule,
A touch of taper fingers,
A scent of roses, sweet and cool,
When she has gone still lingers.
He pauses at the carriage door
To sigh a bit and ponder
He thinks the matter o'er and o'er,
And all his senses wander.
With mantle thrown aside in haste,
Her heart a bit uncertain,
And neither time nor love to waste,
She watches through the curtain.
And she has played him well, he knows
Nor has he dared to stop her.
She wonders when he will propose;
He wonders how he'll drop her.