Make stiff my every smile! or, were my heart
Too strong to be suppress’d, how would I thwart
And turn each glance that could reveal one glimpse
Of how I loved her, toward her sister first!
Unconscious Edith,—could she read deceit?—
’Twas all I dared to use. How could I else,
Poor fool, that then I felt myself to be,
Hide my infatuation!
XXI.
What of her?—