That day on the farm, when we sat on the ground under the thorn-trees, I thought he quite belonged to me; now, I saw he was not mine.

But he was still as beautiful.

His brown eyes are more beautiful than any one's eyes, except yours.
"At last they turned to go, and I walked after them.

When they got out of the gate he helped the ladies into a phaeton, and stood for a moment with his foot on the step talking to them.

He had a little cane in his hand, and an Italian greyhound ran after him.