"You broke it off."
"Listen to me for a moment or two. I know I did. Or, rather, your father and my father broke it off for us."
"If we had cared for each other they couldn't have broken it off. Nobody in the world could break me off as long as I felt that he really loved me;—not if they were to cut me in pieces. But you didn't care, not a bit. You did it just because your father told you. And so did I. But I know better than that now. You never cared for me a bit more than for the old woman at the crossing. You thought I didn't understand;—but I did. And now you've come again;—because your father has told you again. And you'd better go away."
"There's a great deal of truth in what you say."
"It's all true, my lord. Every word of it."
"I wish you wouldn't call me my lord."
"I suppose you are a lord, and therefore I shall call you so. I never called you anything else when they pretended that we were to be married, and you never asked me. I never even knew what your name was till I looked it out in the book after I had consented."
"There is truth in what you say;—but it isn't true now. How was I to love you when I had seen so little of you? I do love you now."
"Then you needn't;—for it isn't any good."
"I do love you now, and I think you'd find that I should be truer to you than that fellow who wouldn't take the trouble to go down to Liverpool with you."