He looked round at her, as she sat silent, quiet, and somewhat sad upon her pony, and declared to himself that she was very beautiful,--that she was a thing to be gained if still there might be the possibility of gaining her.

He felt that he really loved her, and yet he was almost angry with himself for so feeling.
Why had he subjected himself to this numbing weakness?
His love had never given him any pleasure.

Indeed he had never hitherto acknowledged it; but now he was driven to do so on finding it to be the source of trouble and pain.

I think it is open to us to doubt whether, even yet, Bernard Dale was in love with his cousin; whether he was not rather in love with his own desire.

But against himself he found a verdict that he was in love, and was angry with himself and with all the world.
"Ah, Bell," he said, coming close up to her, "I wish you could understand how I love you." And, as he spoke, his cousin unconsciously recognised more of affection in his tone, and less of that spirit of bargaining which had seemed to pervade all his former pleas, than she had ever found before.
"And do I not love you?
Have I not offered to be to you in all respects as a sister ?" "That is nothing.