She shook her head sorrowfully.

He persisted.

She met him with silence.

He thought this peevish, and ungrateful to Heaven; we have all different measures of the wonderful; and to him a fountain of pitch was a thing to admire greatly and thank God for; he said as much.
To Helen it was nasty stuff, and who cares where it came from?
She conveyed as much by a shrug of the shoulders, and then gave a sigh that told her mind was far away.
He was a little mortified, and showed it.

One word led to another, and at last what had been long fermenting came out.
"Mr.Hazel," said she, "you and I are at cross purposes.