Lucia spent her time in planning and doing kind things, and, from the sudden luminous sweetness of her face, he gathered that something of the sort was in preparation now.
It was.

"Horace," she said, "would you like to ask him here ?" "No, Lucy, I wouldn't.

I don't think it would do." "But why not--if he's your friend ?" "If he's my friend." "You _said_ he was your friend.

You did, you know." (Another awkward consequence of a cousin's adoration; she is apt to remember and attach importance to your most trivial utterances.) "Pardon me, I said he was my find." "Where did you find him ?" "I found him in the City--in a shop." She smiled at the rhythmic utterance.

The tragedy of the revelation was such that it could be expressed only in blank verse.
"The shop doesn't matter." "No, but he does.