"If you both liked each other there would be no harm in that--if that were all." "Wouldn't there ?" said Mary, in a low tone of bantering satire; "that is so kind, Trichy, coming from you--from one of the family, you know." "You are well aware, Mary, that if I could have my wishes--" "Yes: I am well aware what a paragon of goodness you are.

If you could have your way I should be admitted into heaven again; shouldn't I?
Only with this proviso, that if a stray angel should ever whisper to me with bated breath, mistaking me, perchance, for one of his own class, I should be bound to close my ears to his whispering, and remind him humbly that I was only a poor mortal.

You would trust me so far, wouldn't you, Trichy ?" "I would trust you in any way, Mary.

But I think you are unkind in saying such things to me." "Into whatever heaven I am admitted, I will go only on this understanding: that I am to be as good an angel as any of those around me." "But, Mary dear, why do you say this to me ?" "Because--because--because--ah me! Why, indeed, but because I have no one else to say it to.

Certainly not because you have deserved it." "It seems as though you were finding fault with me." "And so I am; how can I do other than find fault?
How can I help being sore?
Trichy, you hardly realise my position; you hardly see how I am treated; how I am forced to allow myself to be treated without a sign of complaint.