A man kisses a letter received from the woman he loves, but a woman rarely does.

She thinks when he is away that she would hardly kiss _him_, were he present, much less will she so honour his handwriting.

But when he himself comes the colour of things is changed.
Nevertheless, Margaret put the folded letter in her bosom and wore it there unseen all through that day; and when Mr.Barker came to offer to take her to drive she said she would not go, making some libellous remark about the weather, which was exceeding glad and sunshiny in spite of her refusal to face it.

And Mr.Barker, seeing that he was less welcome than usual, went away, for he was mortally afraid of annoying her.
Margaret was debating within herself whether she should answer, and if so, what she should say.

In truth, it was not easy.