LISA'S KNIGHT AND LISA'S SISTER It had come at last, the moment I had been thinking about for days.

I was going to have him all to myself, the only person in the world I ever loved.
He had asked me to sit out two dances, and that made me think he really must want to be with me, not just because I'm the "pretty girl's sister," but because I'm myself, Lisa Drummond.
Being what I am,--queer, and plain, I can't bear to think that men like girls for their beauty; yet I can't help liking men better if they are handsome.
I don't know if Ivor Dundas is the handsomest man I ever saw, but he seems so to me.

I don't know if he is very good, or really very wonderful, although he's clever and ambitious enough; but he has a way that makes women fond of him; and men admire him, too.

He looks straight into your eyes when he talks to you, as if he cared more for you than anyone else in the world: and if I were an artist, painting a picture of a dark young knight starting off for the crusades, I should ask Ivor Dundas to stand as my model.
Perhaps his expression wouldn't be exactly right for the pious young crusader, for it isn't at all saintly, really: still, I have seen just that rapt sort of look on his face.

It was generally when he was talking to Di: but I wouldn't let myself believe that it meant anything in particular.