What between love, jealousy, and hurt pride that she had not instantly left her irksome poppinjays at the mere sight of me, and flown to me under the noses of them all, I was in two minds whether I would remain in the house or no--so absurd and horridly unbalanced is a young man's mind when love begins meddling with and readjusting its accustomed mechanism.

Long, long were my ears in those first days of my heart's undoing! Solemnly brooding on woman's coldness, fickleness, and general ingratitude, and silently hating every gallant who crowded about her to hold her cup, her fan, her plate, pick up her handkerchief or a bud fallen from her corsage, I could not, however, for the life of me keep my eyes from the cold-blooded little jilt.
She had evidently been out walking before I arrived, for she still wore her coquette garden-hat--the chipstraw affair, with the lilac ribbons tied in a bow under her rounded chin; and a white, thin gown, most ravishing, and all bestrewn with sprigs and posies, which displayed her smooth and delicately moulded throat above the low-pinned kerchief, and her lovely arms from the creamy elbow lace down to her finger tips.
The French hair-powder she wore was not sprinkled in any vulgar profusion; it merely frosted the rich curls, making her pink checks pinker and her grey eyes a darker and purpler grey, and rendering her lips fresh and dewy in vivid contrast.

And she wore a patch on her smooth left cheek-bone.

And it was a most deadly thing to do, causing me a sentimental anguish unspeakable.
As I sat there worshipping, enchanted, resentful, martyred, alternately aching with loneliness and devotion, and at the same time heartily detesting every man on whom she chanced to smile, comes a sly and fragrant breath in my ear.

And, turning, I discover Lana perched on a step of the stairs above me, her mocking eyes brilliant with unkind delight.
"Poor swain a-sighing!" said she.