“I will take his advice, however,” said Walter to himself, “and put an end to my anxiety this very day!”
“Do you feel inclined for a gallop, Mr. Colman?” asked Lufa as they sat at the breakfast-table. “It feels just like a spring morning. The wind changed in the night. You won’t mind a little mud—will you?”
In common phrase, but with a foolish look of adoring gratitude, Walter accepted the invitation. “How handsome he is!” thought Lufa; for Walter’s countenance was not only handsome but expressive. Most women, however, found him attractive chiefly from his frank address and open look; for, though yet far from a true man, he was of a true nature. Every man’s nature indeed is true, though the man be not true; but some have come into the world so much nearer the point where they may begin to be true, that, comparing them with the rest, we say their nature is true.
Lufa rose and went to get ready. Walter followed, and overtook her on the stair.
“I have something for you,” he said; “may I bring it you?”
He could not postpone the effect his book might have. Authors young and old think so much of their books that they seldom conceive how little others care about them.
She was hardly in her room, when he followed her with the volume.
She took it, and opened it.
“Yours!” she cried. “And poetry! Why, Walter!”
She had once or twice called him by his name before.