He shook them more in sorrow than in anger; for he knew that Macassar was in love, and he remembered the days of his youth.

Yes; Macassar was in love.

He had seen the lovely Crinoline.

To see was to admire; to admire was to love; to love--that is, to love her, to love Crinoline, the exalted, the sought-after, the one so much in demand, as he had once expressed himself to one of his bosom friends--to love her was to despair.

He did despair; and despairing sighed, and sighing was idle.
"But he was not all idle.