Never had he known any woman so sensitive as his cousin Lucia.
"So I should like it, dear, if it were possible, or rather if _he_ were not impossible.

His manners have not that repose which distinguishes his _Helen_.

Really, for two and twenty, he is marvellously restrained." "Restrained?
Do you think so ?" "Certainly," he said, his thought gaining precision in opposition to her vagueness, "his _Helen_ is pure Vere de Vere.

You might read me some of it." She read, and in the golden afternoon her voice built up the cold, polished marble of the verse.

She had not been able to tell him what she thought of Rickman; but her voice, in its profound vibrations, made apparent that which she, and she only, had discerned in him, the troubled pulse of youth, the passion of the imprisoned and tumultuous soul, the soul which Horace had assured her inhabited the body of an aitchless shopman.