It seemed impossibly difficult.
"Even if I can't marry you, how can I know that you're all that way away, with only that awful mother to write to, and that you're miserable, and that it's all my fault ?" "It's not your fault.

Don't think that.

It's just fate." Reggie took her hand off his sleeve and kissed it.

"Don't pity me, dear little Anne," he said gently.

And this time he nearly ran, under the pink arches, along the garden path.
"Roo-coo-coo-coo! Roo-coo-coo-coo!" sounded from the veranda.