It pleased her that the object of her adoration should bend always above her--that in her dreams he should preach a perpetual sermon and wear an imperishable surplice.
"Well, I'm sorry for you," said Abel; "I'm sorry for you." And indeed he was.

"You're a good, pious, virtuous girl--just the sort of a girl a man would want for his wife." "I try to be good and I don't see why I should be so--so unhappy," sobbed Judy.

"There ain't a better hand for raisin' chickens and flowers and young lambs in the county." Again she looked up at him through her tears, and the fool that lies at the bottom of all generous hearts rose instantly to her bait.

As he had once been the sport of his desire, so he was to become now the sport of his pity.
"Any man ought to be proud to have you for his wife, Judy," he said.
"Ought they, Abel ?" she replied passionately, with the vision of the Reverend Orlando rising in serene detachment before her.
For a moment he gazed down at her without speaking.

It was pleasant to feel pity; it was more than pleasant to receive gratitude in return.