Every man has his own way of telling things. If the feeling exists, it will out somehow. But when I read novels, I always fancy that crestfallen look of Lieut. Stelsky or Alfred, when he says 'I love you, Eleanora,' and expects something wonderful to happen at once, and no change at all takes place in either of them -- their eyes and noses and their whole selves remain exactly as they were.
