No public show of caresses--caresses whose very sweetness must consist in their entire sacredness; at least, _I_ should think so.

No coquettish exactions, no testing of either's power over the other, in those perilous small quarrels which may be the renewal of passion, but are the death of true love.
No, our young couple were well-behaved always.

She sat at her work, and he made himself generally pleasant, falling in kindly to the Jessop's household ways.

But whatever he was about, at Ursula's lightest movement, at the least sound of her voice, I could see him lift a quiet glance, as if always conscious of her presence; her who was the delight of his eyes.
To-night, more than ever before, this soft, invisible link seemed to be drawn closer between them, though they spoke little together, and even sat at opposite sides of the table; but whenever their looks met, one could trace a soft, smiling interchange, full of trust, and peace, and joy.

He had evidently told her all that had happened to-day, and she was satisfied.
More, perhaps, than I was; for I knew how little John would have to live upon besides what means his wife brought him; but that was their own affair, and I had no business to make public my doubts or fears.
We all sat round the tea-table, talking gaily together, and then John left us, reluctantly enough; but he always made a point of going to the tan-yard for an hour or two, in my father's stead, every evening.
Ursula let him out at the front door; this was her right, silently claimed, which nobody either jested at or interfered with.
When she returned, and perhaps she had been away a minute or two longer than was absolutely necessary, there was a wonderful brightness on her young face; though she listened with a degree of attention, most creditable in its gravity, to a long dissertation of Mrs.Jessop's on the best and cheapest way of making jam and pickles.
"You know, my dear, you ought to begin and learn all about such things now." "Yes," said Miss March, with a little droop of the head.
"I assure you"-- turning to me--"she comes every day into the kitchen--never mind, my dear, one can say anything to Mr.Fletcher.
And what lady need be ashamed of knowing how a dinner is cooked and a household kept in order ?" "Nay, she should rather be proud; I know John thinks so." At this answer of mine Ursula half smiled: but there was a colour in her cheek, and a thoughtfulness in her eyes, deeper than any that our conversation warranted or occasioned.