I understand the words they speak, but themselves I do not understand." "It will come." "No," with a rare accession of humility.

"I have cared for none of these things till--till I came to hear them spoken of at Slumberleigh by you and--and now at first it is smooth, because I say I will do what I can, but soon they will find out I cannot do much, and then--" He shrugged his shoulders.
They drove on in silence.
"But these things are nothing--nothing," burst out Dare at last, in a tremulous voice, "to the one thing I think of all night, all day--how I love Miss Deyncourt, and how," with a simplicity which touched Mr.
Alwynn, "she does not love me at all." There is something pathetic in seeing any cheerful, light-hearted animal reduced to silence and depression.

To watch a barking, worrying, jovial puppy suddenly desist from parachute expeditions on unsteady legs, and from shaking imaginary rats, and creep, tail close at home, overcome by affliction, into obscurity, is a sad sight.

Mr.Alwynn felt much the same kind of pity for Dare as he glanced at him, resignedly blighted, handsomely forlorn, who but a short time ago had taken life as gayly and easily as a boy home for the holidays.
"Sometimes," said Mr.Alwynn, addressing himself to the mill, and the bridge, and the world in general, "young people change their minds.

I have known such things happen." "I shall never change mine." "Perhaps not; but others might." "Ah!" and Dare turned sharply towards Mr.Alwynn, scanning his face with sudden eagerness.