You watch your occasion for meeting her upon
the street. You wonder if she has any conception of your capacity for
mental labor, and if she has any adequate idea of your admiration for
Greek poetry, and for herself.
You tie your cravat poet-wise, and wear broad collars turned down,
wondering how such disposition may affect her. Her figure and step
become a kind of moving romance to you, drifting forward and outward
into that great land of dreams which you call the world. When you see
her walking with others, you pity her, and feel perfectly sure, that, if
she had only a hint of that intellectual fervor which in your own mind
blazes up at the very thought of her, she would perfectly scorn the
stout gentleman who spends his force in tawdry compliments.
A visit to your home wakens ardor by contrast as much as by absence.
Madge, so gentle, and now stealing sly looks at you in a way so
different from her hoidenish manner of school-days, you regard
complacently as a most lovable, fond girl,--the very one for some fond
and amiable young man whose soul is not filled, as yours is, with higher
things! To Nelly, earnestly listening, you drop only exaggerated hints
of the wonderful beauty and dignity of this new being of your fancy.
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