She will never forget you for pulling her father out of that hole, nor will he." Jack bristled up: "I don't want her to think of me in that way!" "Oh, you don't! don't you?
Oh, of course not! You want her to think of you as a great and glorious young knight who goes prancing about the world doing good from habit, and yet you are so high and mighty that--Jack, you rascal, do you know you are the stupidest thing that breathes?
You're like a turkey, my boy, trying to get over the top rail of a pen with its head in the air, when all it has to do is to stoop a little and march out on its toes." Jack rose from his seat and walked toward the fire, where he stood with one hand on the mantel.

He knew Peter had a purpose in all his raillery and yet he dared not voice the words that trembled on his lips; he could tell the old fellow everything in his life except his love for Ruth and her refusal to listen to him.

This was the bitterest of all his failures, and this he would not and could not pour into Peter's ears.
Neither did he want Ruth to have Peter's help, nor Miss Felicia's; nor MacFarlane's; not anybody's help where her heart was concerned.

If Ruth loved him that was enough, but he wouldn't have anybody persuade her to love him, or advise with her about loving him.

How much Peter knew he could not say.