The sound of his own mill-wheel, or of the wind among the trees, confounded and charmed his heart.

The most enchanting thoughts presented themselves unbidden in his mind.

He was so happy that he could not sleep at night, and so restless, that he could hardly sit still out of her company.

And yet it seemed as if he avoided her rather than sought her out.
One day, as he was coming home from a ramble, Will found Marjory in the garden picking flowers, and as he came up with her, slackened his pace and continued walking by her side.
'You like flowers ?' he said.
'Indeed I love them dearly,' she replied.

'Do you ?' 'Why, no,' said he, 'not so much.