He loved her much.

She loved him, too, better than she loved anything in life; and she drew a chair close to her, and he sat down, bending towards her.

There was not much likeness between them, the mother and the son; both were very good-looking, but not alike.
"You see, mother mine, I am not late, as you prophesied I should be," said he, with one of his sweetest smiles.
"You would have been, Lionel, but for my warning.

I'm sure I wish--I _wish_ she was not coming! She must remember the old days in India, and will perceive the difference." "She will scarcely remember India, when you were there.

She is only a child yet, isn't she ?" "You know nothing about it, Lionel," was the querulous answer.