I don't think I should find it at all a bother to unteach you certain things." "And it is a greater bother still to teach you all over again, and teach you different." Elisabeth added, without attending to the last remark.
"Thank you, I think I won't trespass on your forbearance to that extent.
Some lessons are so hard to master that life would be unbearable if one had to learn them twice over." Christopher spoke somewhat bitterly.
Elisabeth attended then.

"What a funny thing to say! But I know what it is--you've got a headache; I can see it in your face, and that makes you take things so contrariwise." "Possibly." "Poor old boy! Does it hurt ?" "Pretty considerably." "And have you had it long ?" "Yes," replied Christopher with truth, and he added to himself, "ever since I can remember, and it isn't in my head at all." Elisabeth stroked his sleeve affectionately.

"I am so sorry." Christopher winced; it was when Elisabeth was affectionate that he found his enforced silence most hard to bear.

How he could have made her love him if he had tried, he thought; and how could he find the heart to make her love him as long as he and she were alike dependent upon Miss Farringdon's bounty, and they had neither anything of their own?
He rejoiced that Alan Tremaine had failed to win her love; but he scorned him as a fool for not having succeeded in doing so when he had the chance.

Had Christopher been master of the Moat House he felt he would have managed things differently; for the most modest of men cherish a profound contempt for the man who can not succeed in making a woman love him when he sets about it.
"By Jove!" he said to himself, looking into the gray eyes that were so full of sympathy just then, "what an ass the man was to talk to such a woman as this about art and philosophy and high-falutin' of that sort! If I had only the means to make her happy, I would talk to her about herself and me until she was tired of the subject--and that wouldn't be this side Doomsday.