But, consider, she has seen so much less of you of late.
Yet I am sure she has all but a mother's love in her heart towards you.
For your mother was dear to her as her own soul.' 'I would it were so, Dorothy! For then, perhaps, your mother would not shrink from being my mother too.

When we are married, Dorothy--' 'Married!' exclaimed the girl.

'What of marrying, indeed!' And she turned sideways from him with an indignant motion.

'Richard,' she went on, after a marked and yet but momentary pause, for the youth had not had time to say a word, 'it has been very wrong in me to meet you after this fashion.

I know it now, for see what such things lead to! If you knew it, you have done me wrong.' 'Dearest Dorothy!' exclaimed the youth, taking her hand again, of which this time she seemed hardly aware, 'did you not know from the very vanished first that I loved you with all my heart, and that to tell you so would have been to tell the sun that he shines warm at noon in midsummer?
And I did think you had a little--something for me, Dorothy, your old playmate, that you did not give to every other acquaintance.
Think of the houses we have built and the caves we have dug together--of our rabbits, and urchins, and pigeons, and peacocks!' 'We are children no longer,' returned Dorothy.