Why had she never fallen in love like other girls?
There had been a boy at Brighton when she was at school there--quite a nice boy, who had written her wildly extravagant love-letters.

It must have cost him half his pocket-money to get them smuggled in to her.

Why had she only been amused at them?
They might have been beautiful if only one had read them with sympathy.

One day he had caught her alone on the Downs.

Evidently he had made it his business to hang about every day waiting for some such chance.