Gravely I held out my arm, which she took; we were old friends and felt no necessity of standing on any sort of ceremony.
"You don't wish to bother," was her sensitive cry.

"You had rather not stop; rather not listen to my troubles." Had I shown my feelings so plainly as that?
I felt mortified.

She was a girl of puny physique and nervous manner--the last sort of person you would expect Arthur Cumberland to admire or even to have patience with, and the very last sort who could be expected to endure his rough ways, or find anything congenial to herself in his dissipated and purposeless life.

But the freaks of youthful passion are endless, and it was evident that they loved each other sincerely.
Her tremulous condition and meek complaint went to my heart, notwithstanding my growing dread of any conversation between us on this all-absorbing but equally peace-destroying topic.

Reassuringly pressing her hand, I was startled to find a small piece of paper clutched convulsively within it.
"For Arthur," she explained under her breath.