If I wanted help I would ask you; indeed I would." "Thank YOU.

Good-night." He pressed the hand with reverence--and was gone.

I saw Miss March look after him: then she turned to speak and smiled with me.

A light word, an easy smile, as to a poor invalid whom she had often pitied out of the fulness of her womanly heart.
Soon I followed John into the parlour.

He asked me no questions, made no remarks, only took his candle and went up-stairs.
But, years afterwards, he confessed to me that the touch of that hand--it was a rather peculiar hand in the "feel" of it, as the children say, with a very soft palm, and fingers that had a habit of perpetually fluttering, like a little bird's wing--the touch of that hand was to the young man like the revelation of a new world..