Though he was twenty and I twenty-two--to us both--and I thank Heaven that we could both look up in the face of Heaven and say so!--to us both, the follies and wickednesses of youth were, if not equally unknown, equally and alike hateful.

Many may doubt, or smile at the fact; but I state it now, in my old age, with honour and pride, that we two young men that day trembled on the subject of love as shyly, as reverently, as delicately, as any two young maidens of innocent sixteen.
After John's serious "God willing," there was a good long silence.
Afterwards, I said-- "Then you propose to marry ?" "Certainly! as soon as I can." "Have you ever--" and, while speaking, I watched him narrowly, for a sudden possibility flashed across my mind--"Have you ever seen any one whom you would like for your wife ?" "No." I was satisfied.

John's single "No" was as conclusive as a score of asseverations.
We said no more; but after one of those pauses of conversation which were habitual to us--John used to say, that the true test of friendship was to be able to sit or walk together for a whole hour in perfect silence, without wearying of one another's company--we again began talking about Enderley.
I soon found, that in this plan, my part was simply acquiescence; my father and John had already arranged it all.

I was to be in charge of the latter; nothing could induce Abel Fletcher to leave, even for a day, his house, his garden, and his tan-yard.

We two young men were to set up for a month or two our bachelor establishment at Mrs.Tod's: John riding thrice a-week over to Norton Bury to bring news of me, and to fulfil his duties at the tan-yard.