She sank down on the floor of the fishing-house, and began to cry--not a good hearty burst of tears; a silent, miserable, resigned sort of crying, as if she had lost all claim to be pitied, and all right to feel wounded or hurt.
I was so distressed, that I thought of nothing but consoling her.

I meant well, and I acted like a fool.

A sensible man would have lifted her up, I suppose, and left her to herself.

I lifted her up, and put my arm round her waist.

She looked at me as I did it.