"I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. "With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. Mark stayed away from Lucy, which was just as Sheila liked it. He began to tell me something—and stopped. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. To them all I am nothing.
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