For him, at any rate, she was better than all the rest.

Her little hand was cool and sweet to him.
Sometimes when he was heated and hard at work, he would fancy how it would be with him if she were by him, and would lay it on his brow.
There was a sparkle in her eye that had to him more of sympathy in it than could be conveyed by all the other eyes in the world.

There was an expression in her mouth when she smiled, which was more eloquent to him than any sound.

There were a reality and a truth about her which came home to him, and made themselves known to him as firm rocks which could not be shaken.

He had never declared to himself that deceit or hypocrisy in a woman was especially abominable.