He meditated for a few minutes upon other girls for whom he had experienced a more or less particular admiration, and it seemed to him that the characters of these damsels became wan and insipid by comparison.

He began to have a presentiment that Love was now about to strike in earnest upon the harp of his life, but he could not think that the circumstances of this present attraction were propitious.

What could he say to this girl, so adorably strong-minded, to convince her of his claim to be again treated as a man and a brother?
Letters?
He had offered them to her last night, and she had replied that any one could write letters.

Should he show that he was not penniless?
She might tell him in the same tone that it was wealth ill-gotten.

It was no doubt her very ignorance of the world that, when suspicion had once occurred, made her reject as unimportant these evidences of his respectability, but he had no power to give her the eyes of experience.
These thoughts tormented him as he stood looking out of the window at the ever-increasing volume of the snow.