"Here in America, we have political freedom ad nauseam; and we pay for it with a loss of social freedom."
"You remember an agreement of ours, years ago, that you and I should travel together. Now, will you stand to it, and go with me?"
"Other considerations apart, I should like nothing better; but, as matters stand with me now, it's quite out of the question."
Morton was silent for a moment. "Ned," he said, at length, "I heard a rumor yesterday. It is no part of mine to obtrude myself into your private affairs, and I should not speak if I had not a reason, the better half of which is, that I think I can serve you. I heard that you were paying your addresses to Miss Euston."
"One cannot look twice at a lady without having it noted down in black and white, and turned into tea-table talk."
"I met Miss Euston a few evenings ago. I used to know her before I went to Europe, but had not seen her since. If what I heard is true, I think you have shown something more than good taste."
"You remember her," said Meredith, after a pause, "as she was the summer when you and I went to New Baden."
"Yes, I knew her then very well."
"I liked her better at that time than you ever supposed. She was very young; just out of school, in fact. She had lived all her life in the suburbs, and had grown up like an unpruned rose bush,—a fine stock in a strong soil, but throwing out its shoots quite wildly and at random."
"I know it; but all that is changed, I can't conceive how."