"I say, Betty, please don't cry," and his voice shook; "it makes it so much harder for me; and it is hard enough as it is--confoundedly hard!" "Then why do it ?" "Because I must." "I don't see that; it is pure Quixotism." "I wish to goodness I could think that; but I can't.

It appears to me a question about which there could not be two opinions." The tears dried on Elisabeth's lashes.

The old feeling of being at war with Christopher, which had laid dormant for so long, now woke up again in her heart, and inclined her to defy rather than to plead.

If he cared for duty more than for her, he did not care for her much, she said to herself; and she was far too proud a woman ever to care for a man--even in the way of friendship--who obviously did not care for her.

Still, she condescended to further argument.
"If you really liked me and were my friend," she said, "not only wouldn't you wish to go away and leave me, but you would want me to have the money, instead of rushing all over the world in order to give it to some tiresome young man you'd never heard of six months ago." "Don't you understand that it is just because I like you and am your friend, that I can't bear you to profit by anything which has a shade of dishonour connected with it?
If I cared for you less I should be less particular." "That's nonsense! But your conscience and your sense of honour always were bugbears, Christopher, and always will be.