She did not know that once, when a man thought to win my favor by making fun of her slow drawl in front of me, that I turned on him so fiercely he never dared come up to me again. I hated the men for betting which of us was prettier, but I would not let her see that I cared about what she felt towards me.
She and I never spoke to each other.
If we met in the village street, we bowed and went our separate ways. When we shook hands, we did so silently and did not look at each other. But I thought she felt my presence in a room just as I felt hers.
At last the time came for me to leave. The day before, someone I knew gave a party in my honor, to which all the village was invited.
It was the middle of winter. There was nothing in the gardens but a few old flowers, and I suppose that for two hundred miles around there was not a rose to be bought for love or money.
