She would hasten to him to say that this saddened her.

She would go just as impulsively to say that she thought it right.
Her discoveries about herself were many.
"What is it to-day ?" he would say, smiling fondly at her.

"I see it is something dreadful by your face." "It is something that struck me suddenly when I was thinking of you, and I don't know whether to be glad or sorry." "Then be glad, you child." "It is this: I used to think a good deal of myself; the people here thought me haughty; they said I had a proud walk." "You have it still," he assured her; the vitality in her as she moved was ever a delicious thing to him to look upon.
"Yes, I feel I have," she admitted, "but that is only because I am yours; and it used to be because I was nobody's!" "Do you expect my face to fall at that ?" "No, but I thought so much of myself once, and now I am nobody at all.
At first it distressed me, and then I was glad, for it makes you everything and me nothing.

Yes, I am glad, but I am just a little bit sorry that I should be so glad!" "Poor Grizel!" said he.
"Poor Grizel!" she echoed.

"You are not angry with me, are you, for being almost sorry for her?
She used to be so different.