I feel I could lose my soul; I have lost it, if I have one, in the
violet depths of those eyes, which were veiled as she slept by the long
black eyelashes which curled up delicately as they rested on her
cheeks. I have re-read this description, and it is oh, so unsatisfying;
would I had the pen of a Goethe or a Shakespeare, yet for want of more
skill the description shall stand.

How I long for her to be mine, and yet, unfortunate that I am, I cannot
for certain declare that she loves me.

A thousand doubts arise. I torment myself with recollections of her
behaviour at the dinner-party, when within two hours of our first
meeting she gave me her lips.

Yet did I not first roughly kiss her as we danced?

I find consolation in the fact that, though she has said nothing, yet
her conduct to-day was different. She was so quiet after tea as we
wandered back through the forests with the setting sun striking golden
beams aslant the tree trunks.

Before we left I sang to her Tchaikowsky's beautiful song, "To the
Forest," and I think she was pleased, for I may say with justice that
my voice is of high quality for an amateur, and the song goes well
without an accompaniment, whilst the atmosphere and surroundings were
ideal.

There was only one jarring note in a perfect day; when we returned to
the car the chauffeur permitted himself a sardonic grin. Zoe
unfortunately saw it and blushed scarlet.