Women have strange fancies, sometimes.
"You have deceived yourself," he said: "when you try to fill your heart with this work, you serve neither your God nor your fellow-man.

You tell me," stooping close to her, "that I am nothing to you: you believe it, poor child! There is not a line on your face that does not prove it false.

I have keen eyes, Margret!"-- He laughed.--"You have wrung this love out of your heart?
If it were easy to do, did it need to wring with it every sparkle of pleasure and grace out of your life! Your very hair is gathered out of your sight: you feared to remember how my hand had touched it?
Your dress is stingy and hard; your step, your eyes, your mouth under rule.

So hard it was to force yourself into an old worn-out woman! Oh, Margret! Margret!" She moaned under her breath.
"I notice trifles, child! Yonder, in that corner, used to stand the desk where I helped you with your Latin.

How you hated it! Do you remember ?" "I remember." "It always stood there: it is gone now.