Your inheritance of conviction is not mine; your mode of reasoning and my own have nothing in common.

We inhabit different worlds.' Beatrice let her eyes turn slowly to his face.

The smile with which he met her found no reflection on her countenance; her look was that of one who realises a fatality.
'Shall we join them ?' she asked in a moment, nodding towards the far-off carriage which was about to hide itself among trees.
Wilfrid mused instead of answering.

She began to ride on.
'Stay one minute,' he said.

'I have been anything but courteous in my way of speaking to you, but it was better to put off idle forms, was it not ?' 'Yes; I shall know henceforth what you think of me.' 'Not from this one conversation, if you mean that.' 'Well, it does not matter.' 'Perhaps not.