Margaret was not a ready lover, but where she loved she loved passionately, and with no small degree of jealousy.

She never called her son by any name but John; 'love' and 'dear', and such like terms, were reserved for Fanny.

Only you're right in saying she's too good an opinion of herself to think of you. The saucy jade! I should like to know where she'd find a better!

She thought in would be awkward for both to be brought into conscious collision; and fancied that, from her being on a low seat at first, and now standing behind her father, he had overlooked her in his haste. As if he did not feel the consciousness of her presence all over, though his eyes had never rested on her!

I'll not listen to reason... reason always means what someone else has got to say.

Oh dear! A drunken infidel weaver! said Mr. Hale to himself.

Even before he left the room, — and certainly, not five minutes after, the clear conviction dawned upon her, shined bright upon her, that he did love her; that he had loved her; that he would love her. And she shrank and shuddered as under the fascination of some great power.