Th' Longest Lane Will Have A Turning.

He Could Not - Say Rather, He Would Not - Deny Himself The Chance Of The Pleasure Of Seeing Margaret. He Had No End In This But The Present Gratification.

For All His Pain, He Longed To See The Author Of It. Although He Hated Margaret At Times, When He Thought Of That Gentle Familiar Attitude And All The Attendant Circumstances, He Had A Restless Desire To Renew Her Picture In His Mind - A Longing For The Very Atmosphere She Breathed. He Was In The Charybdis Of Passion, And Must Perforce Circle And Circle Ever Nearer Round The Fatal Centre.

If Mr. Thornton Was A Fool In The Morning, As He Assured Himself At Least Twenty Times He Was, He Did Not Grow Much Wiser In That Afternoon. All That He Gained In Return For His Sixpenny Omnibus Ride, Was A More Vivid Conviction That There Never Was, Never Could Be, Any One Like Margaret; That She Did Not Love Him And Never Would; But That She — No! Nor The Whole World — Should Never Hinder Him From Loving Her.

I Dare Not Hope. I Never Was Fainthearted Before; But I Cannot Believe Such A Creature Cares For Me.

Trust A Girl Of Sixteen For Knowing Well If She Is Pretty; Concerning Her Plainness She May Be Ignorant.