Now, how was I, who had kissed her at the lane, who had defended her when absent, who called now in state with his father and mother in the family carriage--how was I to say I was not of the same mind as she?
I pulled the ears of the hunting dog until he yelped in pain.
We were deep in the great Sheraton orchard, across the fence which divided it from the house grounds, so far that only the great chimney of the house showed above the trees.

The shade was gracious, the fragrance alluring.

At a distance the voices of singing negroes came to us.
Presently we came to a fallen apple tree, a giant perhaps planted there generations before.

We seated ourselves here, and we should have been happy, for we were young, and all about us was sweet and comforting.
Yet, on my honor, I would rather at that moment have been talking to my mother than to Grace Sheraton.

I did not know why.
For some time we sat there, pulling at apple blossoms and grass stems, and talking of many things quite beside the real question; but at last there came an interruption.