I wanted to ask a favor of you.

It seemed to me you would take no offense." "You might be sure of that," Mary answered.

"You have a right to anything I can do for you." He fixed his gaze on her for a moment, as if he did not understand her.
"That's where it is," he said: "I've _done_ nothing for your people.
It's all very well to go playing and playing, but that's not doing anything; and, if _he_ had done nothing, there would ha' been no fiddling.

You understand me, miss, I know: work comes before music, and makes the soul of it; it's not the music that makes the doing.

I'm a poor hand at saying without my fiddle, miss: you'll excuse me." Mary's heart was throbbing.