In fact, the quality of this small ripe country seemed as sweet to her as the taste of an October pear; and her satisfaction was at the root of the good spirits which enabled her to take her cousin's chaff and return it in kind.

If her good-humour flagged at moments it was not because she thought herself ill-used, but because she suddenly felt sorry for Ralph.

It seemed to her he was talking as a blind and had little heart in what he said.

"I don't know what's the matter with you," she observed to him once; "but I suspect you're a great humbug." "That's your privilege," Ralph answered, who had not been used to being so crudely addressed.
"I don't know what you care for; I don't think you care for anything.
You don't really care for England when you praise it; you don't care for America even when you pretend to abuse it." "I care for nothing but you, dear cousin," said Ralph.
"If I could believe even that, I should be very glad." "Ah well, I should hope so!" the young man exclaimed.
Isabel might have believed it and not have been far from the truth.

He thought a great deal about her; she was constantly present to his mind.
At a time when his thoughts had been a good deal of a burden to him her sudden arrival, which promised nothing and was an open-handed gift of fate, had refreshed and quickened them, given them wings and something to fly for.