I believe that you take some pleasure in what you are pleased to style my beauty, some pride in a mind that you have largely formed.

If I died early, it would grieve you for a little while.

I call you my friend." "I would be called your lover," he said.
She laid her fan upon the ground, heaped it with violets, and turned again to her reaping.

"How might that be," she asked, "when you do not love me?
I knew that you would marry me.

What do the French call it,--_mariage de convenance_ ?" Her voice was even, and her head was bent so that he could not see her face.