"You said yourself I wanted violets to sweeten me and hammers to soften me—you think I'm so bitter and so hard."
"You know what I think of you. And you know," he said, "that I love you."
"You mustn't," she whispered. "It's no good."
He seemed not to have heard her. "And some day," he said, "I shall marry you. I'd marry you to-morrow if I'd enough money to buy a hat with."
"It's no use loving me. You can't marry me."
"I know I can't. But it makes no difference."
"No difference?"
"Not to me."
"If you could," she said, "I wouldn't let you. It would only be one misery more."
"How do you know what it would be?"