neither date nor signature:

"Perfectly delicious! How _can_ such a little gem hold so much color?
Thank you a thousand times!"




CHAPTER XII.


LOVE.

By this Walter was in love with Lady Lufa. He said as much to himself,
at least; and in truth he was almost possessed with her. Every thought
that rose in his mind began at once to drift toward her. Every hour of
the day had a rose-tinge from the dress in which he first saw her.

One might write a long essay on this they call _love,_ and yet
contribute little to the understanding of it in the individual case. Its
kind is to be interpreted after the kind of person who loves. There are
as many hues and shades, not to say forms and constructions of love, as
there are human countenances, human hearts, human judgments and schemes
of life. Walter had not been an impressionable youth, because he had an
imagination which both made him fastidious, and stood him in stead of
falling in love. When a man can give form to the things that move in
him, he is less driven to fall in love. But now Walter saw everything
through a window, and the window was the face of Lufa. His thinking was
always done in the presence and light of that window. She seemed an
intrinsic component of every one of his mental operations. In every