Do you fancy that I did not penetrate your weakness the moment you mentioned her name ?--still less, do you fancy, my dear young friend, that I, who have lived through nearly half a century, and know our nature, and the whole thermometer of our blood, think one jot the worse of you for forming a caprice, or a passion, if you will--for a woman who would set an anchoret, or, what is still colder, a worn out debauchee, on fire?
Bah! Godolphin, I am wiser than you take me for.

And I will tell you more.

For your sake, I am _happy_ that you have incurred already this, our common folly (which we all have once in a life), and that the fit is over.

I do not pry into your secrets; I know their delicacy, I do not ask which of you drew back; for, to have gone forward, to have married, would have been madness in both.

Nay, it was an _impossibility_: it could not have happened to my pupil; the ablest, the subtlest, the wisest of my pupils.
But, however it was broken off, I repeat that I am glad it happened.