Sometimes I think you write of her as one in jest--and sometimes I think that cannot be.

Put me at ease as soon as possible.
LETTER XIII ALAN FAIRFORD TO DARSIE LATIMER I write on the instant, as you direct; and in a tragi-comic humour, for I have a tear in my eye and a smile on my cheek.

Dearest Darsie, sure never a being but yourself could be so generous--sure never a being but yourself could be so absurd! I remember when you were a boy you wished to make your fine new whip a present to old Aunt Peggy, merely because she admired it; and now, with like unreflecting and inappropriate liberality, you would resign your beloved to a smoke-dried young sophister, who cares not one of the hairs which it is his occupation to split, for all the daughters of Eve.

I in love with your Lilias--your Green Mantle--your unknown enchantress!--why I scarce saw her for five minutes, and even then only the tip of her chin was distinctly visible.
She was well made, and the tip of her chin was of a most promising cast for the rest of the face; but, Heaven save you! she came upon business! and for a lawyer to fall in love with a pretty client on a single consultation, would be as wise as if he became enamoured of a particularly bright sunbeam which chanced for a moment to gild his bar-wig.

I give you my word I am heart-whole and moreover, I assure you, that before I suffer a woman to sit near my heart's core, I must see her full face, without mask or mantle, aye, and know a good deal of her mind into the bargain.