On the whole, she thought she should like him, though his scornful manner in speaking of the squire had annoyed her.

The interest she could feel in him, if she felt any at all, would be akin to that of the vicar in the boy.

He was only a boy; brilliantly talented, they said, but still a mere boy.

She was fully ten years older than he--she might almost be his mother--well, not quite that, but very nearly.

It was amusing to think of his writing odes to her.