Any one else must have looked foolish; but not he.

She tried to conceive what manner of memory had thus entranced him; she forged for him a past; she showed him to herself in every light of heroism and greatness and misfortune; she brooded with petulant intensity on all she knew and guessed of him.

Yet, though she was already gone so deep, she was still unashamed, still unalarmed; her thoughts were still disinterested; she had still to reach the stage at which--beside the image of that other whom we love to contemplate and to adorn--we place the image of ourself and behold them together with delight.
She stood within the counter, her hands clasped behind her back, her shoulders pressed against the wall, her feet braced out.

Her face was bright with the wind and her own thoughts; as a fire in a similar day of tempest glows and brightens on a hearth, so she seemed to glow, standing there, and to breathe out energy.

It was the first time Ballantrae had visited that wine-seller's, the first time he had seen the wife; and his eyes were true to her.
'I perceive your reason for carrying me to this very draughty tavern,' he said at last.
'I believe it is propinquity,' returned Balmile.
'You play dark,' said Ballantrae, 'but have a care! Be more frank with me, or I will cut you out.