From that day forth, I know not why, I became the adviser and
confidant of this young girl, who returned and conversed with me for
hours. She at first said, "You are so good, sir, that I feel just
the same when I am here as if I were your own daughter."

"That is a very poor compliment," replied I, dropping her hand; "I
am hardly yet thirty-two, and you look upon me as if I were an old
father."

"No, no, not so; I mean as a brother, to be sure;" and she insisted
upon taking hold of my hand with an air of the most innocent
confidence and affection.

I am glad, thought I to myself, that you are no beauty; else, alas,
this innocent sort of fooling might chance to disconcert me; at
other times I thought it is lucky, too, she is so young, there could
never be any danger of becoming attached to girls of her years. At
other times, however, I felt a little uneasy, thinking I was
mistaken in having pronounced her rather plain, whereas her whole
shape and features were by no means wanting in proportion or
expression. If she were not quite so pale, I said, and her face
free from those marks, she might really pass for a beauty. It is
impossible, in fact, not to find some charm in the presence and in
the looks and voice of a young girl full of vivacity and affection.
I had taken not the least pains to acquire her good-will; yet was I
as dear to either as a father or a brother, whichever title I
preferred. And why? Only because she had read Francesca da Rimini