It seemed wonderful to him that he should have found her again, whom he thought to be so utterly lost, and grown so sweet and dear.

How could he have lived all this while without her, he wondered, and, another thought, how could he bear to part with her once more?
Oh! she was his life, and--why should they part?
She had not minded when he kissed her hands, at which, of course, she might have been angry; indeed, she left them to be kissed for quite a long while, though not half long enough.

Perhaps she did not wish that they should part either, or perhaps she only desired that they should be just friends as before.

It seemed almost impossible that they could become more than friends, even if she cared to do so, which he could scarcely hope.
What was he?
A young fellow, twenty, with only a little money and all his way to make in the world.

And what was she?
A grand young lady, rather younger than himself, it was true, but seeming years older, who was a great heiress, they said, and expected to marry a lord, someone born with a silver spoon in his mouth, whose fortune had been made for him by other people.