"Simple and quiet, do you?"
"Early in the morning—immediately after mass, perhaps."
"Immediately after mass. . . ."
"Only a few wild flowers on the altar, and the dear homely souls who love me gathered around."
"The dear, homely souls. . . ."
"It will be a great, great thing for me, but I don't want to force myself upon anybody, or to triumph over any one—least of all over my poor father, now that he is so sick and down."
"No, no . . . now that he is so sick and down."
"I shall want you to marry us, Daddy Dan—not the Bishop or anybody else of that kind, you know."
"You'll want me to marry you—not the Bishop or anybody else of that kind."
"But Father Dan," I cried, laughing a little uneasily (for I had begun to realise that he was only repeating my own words), "why don't you say something for yourself?"