oil painting from picture

and then smiled at me with a simple yet sagacious grace I cannot
describe. I was at once content and stimulated with what I saw: I
liked what I had seen, and wished to see more. Yet, for a long time, I
treated you distantly, and sought your company rarely. I was an
intellectual epicure, and wished to prolong the gratification of
making this novel and piquant acquaintance: besides, I was for a while
troubled with a haunting fear that if I handled the flower freely
its bloom would fade- the sweet charm of freshness would leave it. I
did not then know that it was no transitory blossom, but rather the
radiant resemblance of one, cut in an indestructible gem. Moreover,
I wished to see whether you would seek me if I shunned you- but you
did not; you kept in the schoolroom as still as your own desk and
easel; if by chance I met you, you passed me as soon, and with as
little token of recognition, as was consistent with respect. Your
habitual expression in those days, Jane, was a thoughtful look; not
despondent, for you were not sickly; but not buoyant, for you had
little hope, and no actual pleasure. I wondered what you thought of
me, or if you ever thought of me, and resolved to find this out.