I saw Miss Reinhart on the terrace; she was leaning over the stone balustrade admiring the magnificent view.

There was a restless, disconsolate expression mixed with her admiration, and I knew quite well the thoughts passing through her mind were, first, a vivid regret that the place was not hers, then a wonder as to the possibility of its ever belonging to her.

I could read it in the lingering, loving glance she threw round, followed by the impatient frown and restless movement.

The idea possessed me so strongly that I could not help going to my mother and clasping my arms round her neck, as though I would save her from all harm; but I did not tell her why.

I had learned my lesson; from first to last never a word passed my lips that could have grieved her even in the least, never.
The first thing that struck me in the manner of Miss Reinhart was the way in which she spoke to my father.