I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. “I think—we all think that she is wonderful. He fancied that when they had had time to reflect, they would regret it still more. Gosse cursed him finely, of course, but there was nothing he could do. Both these ladies possessed considerable personal attractions. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. He not only failed in making any impression, but seemed to increase the difficulties, for after an hour's toil he had broken the nail and slightly bent the iron bar. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. At last—I told a story. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night.
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