He rose and went to meet her, and in his eyes there was a light, a light of wonder and of worship.
"I think," she said, "you do look a little happier." "I am tolerably happy, thanks." "So am I." "Yes, but _you_ don't look it.

What are you thinking of ?" She turned, and they walked together towards the house.
"I was thinking--it's quite cool, now, Horace--of what you said--about that friend of yours." "Lucy! Was I rude?
Did I make you unhappy ?" "Not you.

Don't you see that it's just because I'm happy that I want to be kind to him ?" "Just like your sweetness.

But, dear child, you can't be kind to everybody.

It really doesn't do." She said no more; she had certainly something else to think about.
That was on a Tuesday, a hot afternoon in July, eighteen ninety-one..