He wooed her in every obvious way that would present
itself to a boy of deep feeling, of quick mind, and an unlimited
letter of credit. He created wants in order to gratify them later. He
suggested her need of things which he had already ordered, which,
before she had been enticed into expressing a wish for them, were
then speeding across the Continent toward her. Every hour brought her
some fresh and ingenuous sign of his thought and of his devotion. He
treated these tributes as a matter of course; if she failed to
observe them and to see his handiwork in them he let them fall to the
ground unnoticed.
His love itself was his argument-in-chief; it was its own excuse; it
needed no allies; "I love you" was his first and last word. It
puzzled her to find that she could not care. When she was alone she
asked herself what there was in him of which she disapproved, and she
could only answer that there was nothing. She asked herself what
other men there were who pleased her more, and she could think of
none. On the contrary, she found him entirely charming as a friend--
but his love distressed her greatly. It was a foreign language; she
could not comprehend it.
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