This indifferent, if not hostile, attitude on William's part made it impossible to break off without animosity, largely and completely.

Infinitely preferable was Mary's state, she thought, where there was a simple thing to do and one did it.

In fact, she could not help supposing that some littleness of nature had a part in all the refinements, reserves, and subtleties of feeling for which her friends and family were so distinguished.

For example, although she liked Cassandra well enough, her fantastic method of life struck her as purely frivolous; now it was socialism, now it was silkworms, now it was music--which last she supposed was the cause of William's sudden interest in her.

Never before had William wasted the minutes of her presence in writing his letters.