I don't think that he really can love her--that is, as engaged people are supposed to love each other.

If he did he would not have grown so angry--with himself--and then turned upon me because the recollection of my old death song had interfered with the reflections which he ought to have offered upon her altar.

That is what struck me as odd; not his neglecting to remember her in a moment of danger, since then we often forget everything except some triviality of the hour.

But, of course, this is all nonsense, which I oughtn't to write here even, as most people have their own ways of being fond of each other.

Also, it is no affair of mine.
"I have seen Miss Porson's photograph, a large one of her in Court dress, which stands in Mr.Monk's laboratory (such a lovely place, it was an old chapel).