Would you do that, Catherine?
Speak for yourself; would you ?" "How old are you, Beatrice ?" asked Catherine.
"I am nineteen; never mind my age, that has nothing whatever to say to the question I want you to answer." "I asked you about your age on purpose--because I can't answer your question.

You are nineteen, I am seventeen.

I feel like a child still; I don't understand anything about loving people as you talk of love; but I could be kind, and if it lay in my power to keep hearts from breaking I think I'd be very glad to do it, and then Loftie _is_ nice, Bee." Beatrice sighed.

For the first time there was a gulf between her and Catherine.

As an intelligent and intellectual companion, as an affectionate friend, Catherine was perfect; but in matters pertaining to love--that great mystery which comes into most lives--her unawakened heart was as a blank.
"You ask a great deal," said Beatrice, rising to her feet with irritation.