misjudged and misprized.

How can you ask me what colour his eyes are? When did you know me
care for any one--except mamma--whose eyes were not blue? His are
very dark, and very beautiful. I cannot think, by the way, why I
ever told you that he might perhaps be considered plain. I looked at
him hard yesterday, and cannot think what possessed me to say such a
thing; for he is certainly as far from plain as any man I ever set
eyes on. It's really very strange that I did not see it at once.

You see, we have met again. Five days passed, and I must admit that
I found them dull. To be quite sincere, I will also admit that I
once walked towards Miltonhoe, and was disappointed not to meet him.
At last, on Wednesday morning, I received a note from him. He writes
a good hand, although not a firm one--he makes two or three of his
letters in two or three different ways. I would send you the letter,
only mine is sure to be heavy enough without enclosures. It ran
thus:--

_Dear Miss Fletcher_,--I am afraid of your butler. What is
to be done? I tried this afternoon to pay you a call, but my
courage vanished at the lodge. I think we did not quite
exhaust our subject last Thursday. I have thought a great
deal more about it, and I dare say you have done likewise.
Can I see you by any means without facing the butler? I
shall sit in the laurel hedge every morning, on the chance
of your taking another walk before breakfast.

Your humble servant,
GABRIEL NORTON.