She brought forth the subject of affinities, and ventured to say that some day I might meet mine.

I scoffed inwardly.
I have now found what she said to be true.

The love I gave her was the bud; the rose-- Gretchen," said I, rising, "I love you; I am not a hypocrite; I cannot parade my regard for you under the flimsy guise of friendship." "Go and give the rose to her to whom you gave the bud," said Gretchen.
The half smile struck me as disdainful.

"You are a strange wooer." "I am an honest one." I began plucking at the bark of the tree.

"No; I shall let the rose wither and die on the stem.