Then she sat down on the seat, and gave herself up to memories of their walks and talks at Millstead.
"Why need he spoil it all ?" she cried.

"Why need he give me a sad memory, when I had such a pleasant one?
Oh, how foolish they are! What a pity it's Eugene, and not him! Eugene would never have looked like that.
He'd have made a bitter little speech, and then a pretty little speech, and smoothed his feathers and flown away.

But still it is Eugene! Oh, dear, I shall never be quite happy again!" We may reasonably, nay confidently, hope that this was looking at the black side of things.

It is pleasant to act a little to ourselves now and then.

The little pieces are thrilling, and they don't last much longer than their counterparts upon the stage.