you."

She had a wonderful gift of conversation--piquant, sparkling and
intellectual. If I had been the dullest of the dull, I should have known
that such a woman would not pass her life as a companion unless she had
some wonderful end in view. She was far too brilliant. She would have
made a good ambassadress, for she could make herself all things to all
men. No matter what subject interested you, on that she could speak. She
seemed to understand every one intuitively; one's likes, dislikes,
tastes. She had a wondrous power of reading character. She was worldly
with the worldly, good with the good, romantic with the young, sensible
with the old. To me she was always the same. Sometimes, when I saw her
coming to meet me along those paths where the rose leaves lay dead, I
felt inclined to go away and leave her; but natural politeness came to
my aid. Then when she had talked to me for a few minutes, a strange,
subtle charm would steal over me.

I knew her well-chosen compliments were all flattery. I knew she was
pursuing me for some object of her own. Yet that charm no words can
describe was stronger than my reason. Away from her I disliked her; my
judgment was all against her; in her presence no man could help being
fascinated.

I thank Heaven that I had the shield of a pure and holy love; I was but
a weak man, and nothing else saved me. If there came a wet day, or one
that was not pleasant for walking, she had a thousand ways of making
time fly. She played billiards as well as any man; she read aloud more
beautifully and perfectly than I have ever heard any one else. She made
every room she entered cheerful; she had a fund of anecdote that never
seemed to be exhausted.