“I cannot say who he is,” said Ann Veronica, “but he is a married man. They heard voices inside but stood for a full thirty seconds looking at each other. I wish she wouldn’t look like that at us over her glasses. She owed the nun a great deal, including her command of English, for no one else thought to ensure she could speak her mother tongue. She had nothing to say for herself. Her figure, though slight, had all the fulness of health; and her complexion—still pale, but without its former sickly cast,—contrasted agreeably, by its extreme fairness, with the dark brows and darker lashes that shaded eyes which, if they had lost some of their original brilliancy, had gained infinitely more in the soft and chastened lustre that replaced it. "That's the whole difficulty. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. You mustn’t go clawing after a man that doesn’t belong to you—that isn’t even interested in you. .
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