Beneath the sketch he had written, "They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in death they were not divided." I remembered his telling me how young they were when they were married.

How his father had never cared for any one else, and how he would like to do just the same, and marry the one lady of his love.
I began, too, to think Clerke was right when he replied to my confidences, "I'm only afraid, Regie, that you don't know what love is." It was whilst these thoughts were crowding all too vividly into my mind that Maria said, impressively, and with unmistakable clearness, "After _all_, you know, Regie, he's a _thorough_ gentleman, if he _is_ poor.

I must say _that_! And if he _has_ a profession instead of being a landed proprietor, it's the _highest_ and _noblest_ profession there is." It seemed to take away my breath.

But I was standing almost behind Maria; she was preoccupied, and I had some presence of mind.

I had opportunity to realize the fact that I was not the object of Maria's attachment, as I had supposed.