Do not, however, mistake me. I did not mope, and
moan, and grow pale, after the manner of poetical lovers. No such
thing. I went bravely about my business, ate and drank as usual,
laughed when the laugh went round, and slept soundly, and woke
refreshed. Yet all this time I loved--desperately loved--Elsie
Burns. I went wherever I hoped to meet her, but did not haunt her
with my attentions. I behaved to her as any friendly young man
would have behaved: I met her and parted from her cheerfully. She
was a good girl, too, and behaved well. She had me in her power--
how a woman in Elsie's situation could have mortified a man in
mine!--but she never took the slightest advantage of it. She
danced with me when I asked her, and had no foolish fears of
allowing me to see her home of nights, after a ball was over, or of
wandering with me through the pleasant New England fields when the
wild flowers made the paths like roads in fairyland.
On the several disastrous occasions when I presented my suit I did
it simply and manfully, telling her that I loved her very much, and
would do everything to make her happy if she would be my wife.
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