No, no! I'll not encounter that; however appearances for the moment had been against me, she should not have treated me thus coldly and disdainfully.

It was quite clear she had never cared for me,--wounded pride had been her only feeling; and so as I reasoned I ended by satisfying myself that in that quarter all was at end forever.
Now then for dilemma number two, I thought.

The senhora, my first impulse was one of anything but gratitude to her by whose kind, tender care my hours of pain and suffering had been soothed and alleviated.

But for her, I should have been spared all my present embarrassment, all my shipwrecked fortunes; but for her I should now be the aide-de-camp residing in Sir George Dashwood's own house, meeting with Lucy every hour of the day, dining beside her, riding out with her, pressing my suit by every means and with every advantage of my position; but for her and her dark eyes--and, by-the-bye, what eyes they are! how full of brilliancy, yet how teeming with an expression of soft and melting sweetness; and her mouth, too, how perfectly chiselled those full lips,--how different from the cold, unbending firmness of Miss Dashwood's! Not but I have seen Lucy smile too, and what a sweet smile! How it lighted up her fair cheek, and made her blue eyes darken and deepen till they looked like heaven's own vault.

Yes, there is more poetry in a blue eye.