"I hope you will let me be your friend always!" "That I will.

Now Sibylla's gone, there's nobody in the whole world I care for, but you." He spoke it without any double meaning: he might have used the same words, been actuated by precisely the same feelings, to his mother or his sister.

His all-absorbing love for Sibylla barred even the idea of any other love to his mind, yet awhile.
"Lionel!" cried Lucy, turning her face full upon him in her earnestness, "_how_ could she choose Frederick Massingbird, when she might have chosen you ?" "Tastes differ," said Lionel, speaking lightly, a thing he rarely did when with Lucy.

"There's no accounting for them.

Some time or other, Lucy, you may be marrying an ugly fellow with a wooden leg and red beard; and people will say, 'How could Lucy Tempest have chosen him ?'" Lucy coloured.