She was worldly with the worldly, good with the good, romantic with the young, sensible with the old.

To me she was always the same.

Sometimes, when I saw her coming to meet me along those paths where the rose leaves lay dead, I felt inclined to go away and leave her; but natural politeness came to my aid.

Then when she had talked to me for a few minutes, a strange, subtle charm would steal over me.
I knew her well-chosen compliments were all flattery.

I knew she was pursuing me for some object of her own.