I am much obliged to ye.

As you will see her often, you'll discover for yourself if anything serious is the matter." "I can assure you it is nothing," said Fitzpiers, who had seen Grace much oftener already than her father knew of.
When he was gone Fitzpiers paused, silent, registering his sensations, like a man who has made a plunge for a pearl into a medium of which he knows not the density or temperature.

But he had done it, and Grace was the sweetest girl alive.
As for the departed visitor, his own last words lingered in Melbury's ears as he walked homeward; he felt that what he had said in the emotion of the moment was very stupid, ungenteel, and unsuited to a dialogue with an educated gentleman, the smallness of whose practice was more than compensated by the former greatness of his family.

He had uttered thoughts before they were weighed, and almost before they were shaped.

They had expressed in a certain sense his feeling at Fitzpiers's news, but yet they were not right.