To my dismay (for I wanted the very weather itself to favor George's interests), it was raining heavily that morning.

I knew, therefore, that I should probably find her in her own sitting-room.

When I knocked at her door, with George's letter crumpled up in my hand, with George's hopes in full possession of my heart, it is no exaggeration to say that my nerves were almost as much fluttered, and my ideas almost as much confused, as they were on a certain memorable day in the far past, when I rose, in brand-new wig and gown, to set my future prospects at the bar on the hazard of my first speech.
When I entered the room I found Jessie leaning back languidly in her largest arm-chair, watching the raindrops dripping down the window-pane.
The unfortunate box of novels was open by her side, and the books were lying, for the most part, strewed about on the ground at her feet.

One volume lay open, back upward, on her lap, and her hands were crossed over it listlessly.

To my great dismay, she was yawning--palpably and widely yawning--when I came in.
No sooner did I find myself in her presence than an irresistible anxiety to make some secret discovery of the real state of her feelings toward George took possession of me.