He looked.

The riddle of her was more burdensome in the daylight.
He sighed, and on another surging of his admiration launched the resolve that he would serve her blindly, without one question.

How, when, where, and the means and the aim, he did not think of.

There was she, and here was he, and heaven and a great heart would show the way.
Adiante at eighteen, the full length of her, fresh in her love of Philip, was not the same person to him, she had not the same secret; she was beautiful differently.

By right he should have loved the portrait best: but he had not seen it first; he had already lived through a life of emotions with the miniature, and could besides clasp the frame; and moreover he fondled an absurd notion that the miniature would be entrusted to him for a time, and was almost a possession.