You mistake what I am, I fancy.

Because I come as a stranger to a secluded spot, you think I must needs come from a life of bustle, and know the latest movements of the day.

But I don't.

My life is as quiet as yours, and more solitary; solitary as death.' 'The death which comes from a plethora of life?
But seriously, I can quite see that you are not the least what I thought you would be before I saw you.

You are not critical, or experienced, or--much to mind.
That's why I don't mind singing airs to you that I only half know.' Finding that by this confession she had vexed him in a way she did not intend, she added naively, 'I mean, Mr.Smith, that you are better, not worse, for being only young and not very experienced.