I thank you, but it can't be." She passed the peas slowly to and fro in her fingers.
"But why, 'Lizabeth ?" he urged; "you was fond o' me once.

Come, girl, don't stand in your own light through a hit o' pique." "It's not that," she explained; "it's that I've found myself out--an' you.

You've humbled my pride too sorely." "You're thinking o' Maria." "Partly, maybe; but it don't become us to talk o' one that's dead.
You've got my answer, William, and don't ask me again.

I loved you once, but now I'm only weary when I think o't.

You wouldn't understand me if I tried to tell you." She held out her hand.