She stepped from her hoops to try on the rose brocade, But let it lie for a moment, while she stood up To look at the bright ghost-girl in the long dark mirror, Adoringly. “Oh, you honey,” she thought. “You honey! You look so pretty⁠—and nobody knows but me. Nobody knows.” She kissed her little white shoulders, With fierce and pitying love for their shining whiteness, So soft, so smooth, so untarnished, so honey-sweet. Her eyes were veiled. She swayed in front of the mirror. “Honey, I love you,” she whispered, “I love you, honey. Nobody loves you like I do, do they, sugar? Nobody knows but Lucy how sweet you are. You mustn’t get married, honey. You mustn’t leave me. We’ll be pretty and sweet to all of them, won’t we, honey? We’ll always have beaus to dance with and tunes to dance to, But you mustn’t leave me, honey. I couldn’t bear it. You mustn’t ever leave me for any man.”