I had guessed, but I wouldn't let myself believe.

I hoped against hope.

He was so much kinder to me than any other man ever took the trouble to be, in all my wretched, embittered twenty-four years of life.
"Di might have told me," I went gasping on, rather than let there be a long silence between us just then.

I had enough pride not to want him to see me cry--though, if it could have made any difference, I would have grovelled at his feet and wet them with my tears.

"But she never does tell me anything about herself." "She's so unselfish and so fond of you, that probably she likes better to talk about you instead," he defended her.