And they don't seem to know!" "This is very interesting," Mr.Brand observed, smiling.
"You told me to tell you about my--my struggles," the young girl went on.
"Let us talk about them.

I have so many things to say." Gertrude turned away a moment; and then, turning back, "You had better go to church," she said.
"You know," the young man urged, "that I have always one thing to say." Gertrude looked at him a moment.

"Please don't say it now!" "We are all alone," he continued, taking off his hat; "all alone in this beautiful Sunday stillness." Gertrude looked around her, at the breaking buds, the shining distance, the blue sky to which she had referred as a pretext for her irregularities.

"That 's the reason," she said, "why I don't want you to speak.

Do me a favor; go to church." "May I speak when I come back ?" asked Mr.Brand.
"If you are still disposed," she answered.
"I don't know whether you are wicked," he said, "but you are certainly puzzling." She had turned away; she raised her hands to her ears.