She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. “You are so sweet, Lucy. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. ‘You’re right. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. ” He did not agree with that.
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