"Very."
"Then how will you manage?"
"Really," he said, turning round to confront me, "is it possible you do not guess whose face I want, Daisy?"
"Mine!" I exclaimed, much astonished.
"Yes, yours," he replied, taking my hand in his. "I once saw you reading—"
"Sewing, Cornelius."
"No [!] reading—do you think I never looked at you but that one time?— and I liked it, for I saw it would make a very charming picture. The attitude is one in which you often fall unconsciously—simple, true, and graceful. I like it. I like, too, the exquisite colour of your hair, and the meditative light of your gray eyes. Dark eyes may be for passion; blue, for love and sweetness; gray, less beautiful, perhaps, but also less earthly, are for meditation and spiritual thought."
"And the meaning of hazel eyes?" I said, looking up at his.
"Sincerity," he replied, biting his nether lip to repress a smile. "If, for instance, a person with hazel eyes ever tells you 'you are truly pretty, Daisy, though you do not seem to know it,' believe that person, Daisy."
"I shall see about that when the time comes. In the meanwhile, I wish you would begin."