To judge by Coralie's standard, she did not like me. In all our
conversation it half maddened me to see the lovely eyes I loved so
dearly dropped shyly away from me.
It may not be a very elegant comparison, but she always reminded me of
some shy, beautiful bird. She had a bright, half-startled way of looking
at me. Several times, when I met her suddenly, I saw the lovely face
flush and the little hands tremble.
Did she love me or did she not? I could not tell. Of whom should I take
counsel? There was a bird singing over me; I wondered if that sweet
night-song was all of love. Alas! that I had not been more into the
world of women--their ways and fashions were all mysteries to me.
"Faint heart never won fair lady," says the old proverb, and it ran
through my mind. I resolved to try my fortune. If she did not love me,
why then, life held nothing more for me. If I could not win her I would
never ask the love of woman more, but live out my life with Clare.
Like many other anxious lovers, I lay awake all night, wondering what I
should say to her, how I should woo her, in what words I should ask her
to be my wife.
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