I was sowing my wild oats last summer, Mary, and they brought me a crop of sorrow But I am wiser now--wiser and happier.
'But if you were to see Lesbia again would not the old love revive ?' 'The old love is dead, Mary.

There is nothing left of it but a handful of ashes, which I scatter thus to the four winds,' with a wave of his hand towards the open casement.

'The new love absorbs and masters my being.

If Lesbia were to re-appear at Fellside this evening, I could offer her my hand in all brotherly frankness, and ask her to accept me as a brother.

Here comes the coach.