accepted the invitation. "How handsome he is!" thought Lufa; for
Walter's countenance was not only handsome but expressive. Most women,
however, found him attractive chiefly from his frank address and open
look; for, though yet far from a true man, he was of a true nature.
Every man's nature indeed is true, though the man be not true; but some
have come into the world so much nearer the point where they may begin
to be true, that, comparing them with the rest, we say their nature is
true.

Lufa rose and went to get ready. Walter followed, and overtook her on
the stair.

"I have something for you," he said; "may I bring it you?"

He could not postpone the effect his book might have. Authors young and
old think so much of their books that they seldom conceive how little
others care about them.

She was hardly in her room, when he followed her with the volume.

She took it, and opened it.

"Yours!" she cried. "And poetry! Why, Walter!"

She had once or twice called him by his name before.

He took it from her hand, and turning the title-page, gave it her again
to read the dedication. A slight rose-tinge suffused her face. She said
nothing, but shut the book, and gave it a tender little hug.