Could I not bring my work and sit there by him?
I felt a little selfish, for we were already on the last week, and I said I thought I would sit in the parlor.

I had to write a letter to Sister Madeline.

I had not heard a word from her yet, though I had written twice.
Why could not I write in the library?
I always liked to be alone when I wrote letters: I could not think, when any one was in the room.

Besides, trying to smile, he would be sure to talk.
He looked disappointed, and lingered a good while before he went away.
As he rose to go away he threw into my lap a little package, saying, "There is some white lace for you.

Can't you use it on some of your clothes?
I don't know anything about such things: maybe it isn't pretty enough, but I thought perhaps it would do for that lilac silk you talked of." I opened the package: it was exquisite, fit for a princess; and as I bent over it, I thought, how dead I must be, that it gave me no pleasure to know it was my own, for I had loved such baubles so, a year ago.
"What a mass of it!" I exclaimed, unfolding yard on yard.
"You must always wear lace," he said, throwing one end of it over my black dress around the shoulder.