And there's sadness in her face, too.

Can it be real?
By Heavens! if I thought it could be real I'd--but pooh! what insanity! It's her art.
There never was such cunning.

She cultivates the soft, sad style so as to attract lovers--lovers--who adore her--who save her life--who become her obedient slaves! Oh yes; and I--what am I?
Why they get together and laugh at me; they giggle; they snicker--" "Confound it all, man, what are you going on at that rate for ?" interrupted Hawbury.

"Are you taking leave of your senses altogether?
By Jove, old man, you'd better give up this Roman journey." "No, I'll keep at it." "What for?
Confound it! I don't see your object." "My object?
Why, I mean to follow her.

I can't give her up.