Why do you bother about him?
and what made you talk all that stuff this afternoon?
Because you think he is in a queer way, and that if he goes on giving himself up to his fancies he will become mad--yes, mad--because--Oh! what's the use of making excuses--because you are fond of him, and always have been fond of him from a child, and can't help it.

What a fate! To be fond of a man who hasn't the heart to care for you or for any other woman.

Perhaps, however, that's only because he hasn't found the right one, as he might do at any time, and then----" "Where are you going to, and where's your light ?" shouted a hoarse voice from the pathway on which she was unlawfully riding.
"My good man, I wish I knew," answered Mary, blandly.
Morris, for whom the day never seemed long enough, was a person who breakfasted punctually at half-past eight, whereas Colonel Monk, to whom--at any rate at Monksland--the day was often too long, generally breakfasted at ten.

To his astonishment, however, on entering the dining-room upon the morrow of his interview in the workshop with Mary, he found his father seated at the head of the table.
"This means a 'few words' with me about something disagreeable," thought Morris to himself as he dabbed viciously at an evasive sausage.

He was not fond of these domestic conversations.