He would understand that I could not help being shy, that it was only my nature, and that if I said things awkwardly my meanings were better than my words.

Perhaps I should be able to tell him something of what his books had been to me.
I glanced through the flowers again--and he was looking at me! I could scarcely believe it for a second.

But he was.

His eyes--his wonderful eyes--met mine.

I could not explain why they were wonderful.