They--they hurt, and hurt badly; they leave a bitter taste in the mouth, a nasty pang behind.

And if it were true--but it isn't, Ida!--it is I who love.

Good Lord! don't you know how beautiful you are?
Haven't you a looking-glass in your room?
don't you know that no girl that ever was born had such wonderful eyes, such beautiful hair?
Oh, my heart's love, don't you know how perfect you are ?" They had stopped under some trees near the ruined chapel, and she leant against one of them and looked up at him with a strange, dreamy, far-away look in her eyes which were dark as the purple amethyst.
"I never thought about it.

Am I--do you think I am pretty?
I am glad; yes I am glad!" "Pretty!" he laughed.

"Dearest, when I take you away from here, into the world, as my wife--my wife--the thought sends my blood coursing through my veins--you will create so great a sensation that I shall be half wild with pride; I shall want to go about calling aloud: 'She is my wife; my very own! You may admire--worship her, but she is mine--belongs to me--to unworthy Stafford Orme!'" "Yes ?" she murmured, her voice thrilling.