"Impatiently I waited for evening, when I might summon you to my
presence. An unusual--to me--a perfectly new character I suspected
was yours: I desired to search it deeper and know it better. You
entered the room with a look and air at once shy and independent:
you were quaintly dressed--much as you are now. I made you talk:
ere long I found you full of strange contrasts. Your garb and
manner were restricted by rule; your air was often diffident, and
altogether that of one refined by nature, but absolutely unused to
society, and a good deal afraid of making herself disadvantageously
conspicuous by some solecism or blunder; yet when addressed, you
lifted a keen, a daring, and a glowing eye to your interlocutor's
face: there was penetration and power in each glance you gave; when
plied by close questions, you found ready and round answers. Very
soon you seemed to get used to me: I believe you felt the existence
of sympathy between you and your grim and cross master, Jane; for it
was astonishing to see how quickly a certain pleasant ease
tranquillised your manner: snarl as I would, you showed no
surprise, fear, annoyance, or displeasure at my moroseness; you
watched me, and now and then smiled at me with a simple yet
sagacious grace I cannot describe. I was at once content and
stimulated with what I saw: I liked what I had seen, and wished to
see more. Yet, for a long time, I treated you distantly, and sought
your company rarely. I was an intellectual epicure, and wished to
prolong the gratification of making this novel and piquant
acquaintance: besides, I was for a while troubled with a haunting
fear that if I handled the flower freely its bloom would fade--the
sweet charm of freshness would leave it. I did not then know that
it was no transitory blossom, but rather the radiant resemblance of
one, cut in an indestructible gem. Moreover, I wished to see
whether you would seek me if I shunned you--but you did not; you
kept in the schoolroom as still as your own desk and easel; if by
chance I met you, you passed me as soon, and with as little token of
recognition, as was consistent with respect. Your habitual
expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; not
despondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you had
little hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought of
me, or if you ever thought of me, and resolved to find this out.
"I resumed my notice of you. There was something glad in your
glance, and genial in your manner, when you conversed: I saw you
had a social heart; it was the silent schoolroom--it was the tedium
of your life--that made you mournful. I permitted myself the
delight of being kind to you; kindness stirred emotion soon: your
face became soft in expression, your tones gentle; I liked my name
pronounced by your lips in a grateful happy accent. I used to enjoy
a chance meeting with you, Jane, at this time: there was a curious
hesitation in your manner: you glanced at me with a slight trouble-
-a hovering doubt: you did not know what my caprice might be--
whether I was going to play the master and be stern, or the friend
and be benignant. I was now too fond of you often to simulate the
first whim; and, when I stretched my hand out cordially, such bloom
and light and bliss rose to your young, wistful features, I had much
ado often to avoid straining you then and there to my heart."