treated me.

She had such dear little, characteristic ways about her--ways that were
quite peculiar to herself.

I got to know them all.

When she was specially interested in anything that one was saying, she
would lean forwards, with a deep, reflective look in her clear grey
eyes, in rapt attention, resting her little dimpled chin on her bent
hand:--when she disagreed with something you said, she would make such a
pretty quaint moue, tossing her head defiantly, and raise her curving
eyebrows in astonishment that you should dare to differ from her.

She seldom laughed--I hate to hear girls continually giggling and
guffawing at the merest nothings so long as they proceed from male lips!

When Min laughed, her laughter was just like the rippling of silvery
music and of the most catching, contagious nature. She generally only
smiled, at even the most humorous incidents; and her smile was the
sweetest I ever saw in anyone. It lit up her whole face with merriment,
giving the grey eyes the most bewitching expression, and bringing into
prominent notice a tiny, dear little dimple in her chin, which you might
not have previously observed.

Her smile it was that completed my captivation, that first time that I
saw her in church and lost my heart in a moment:--her smile was ever and
always her greatest charm.

Of course I remember all her little darling ways and coquetries.

Love is a great master of the art of mnemonics, and might be quoted by
Mr Stokes as one of the greatest "aids to memory" that is known.

Trifling trivialities, by others passed by unobserved, are graphically
jotted down with indelible ink in his cordal note-book--

"For indeed I know
Of no more subtle master under heaven,
Than is the maiden passion for a maid."

When no other people came in, Min would always, on the evening of my
visit, make a rule of turning out her workbox, and arranging its
contents over again--"in order," as she told me, although I had thought
it the picture of neatness and tidiness in its original state.

She was in the habit on these occasions of restoring to her mother
sundry little articles which she confessed to having purloined during
the week. I recollect how there used to be a regular little joke at her
expense on the subject of kleptomania.

How well I remember that little workbox, and its arrangements! I could
tell you, now, every item of its varied contents,--the perfumed sachet,
the ugly little pincush