I told you what Roger said, word for word--all of you!" "_Did_ you ?"--( with an accent of astonished incredulity).
"Yes," say I, "do not you remember?
I promised I would before I went into the drawing-room that day, and, when I came out, I wanted the boys to let me off, but they would not." A pause.
"I wish," say I, a little impatiently, "that you would look up! Why need you mind if you _are_ rather red?
What do _I_ matter?
and so--and so--you are _pleased_!" "_Pleased!_" She has raised her head as I bid her, and on her face there is a sort of scorn at the poverty and inadequacy of the expression, and yet she replaces it with no other; only the sapphire of her eyes is dimmed and made more tender by rising tears.
Clearly we were never meant to be joyful, we humans! In any bliss greater than our wont, we can only hang out, to demonstrate our felicity, the sign and standard of woe.
"Nancy!"-- (taking my hand, and looking at me with wistful earnestness)--"do you think it _can_ last?
Did ever any one feel as I do for _long_ ?" "I do not know--how can I tell ?" reply I, discomfortably, as I absently eye the two halves of my paper-knife, which, after having given one or two warning cracks, has now snapped in the middle.

Then Roger enters, and our talk ends..