"You see, my precious girl," said Richard, passing her golden curls through and through his hand, "I was a little hasty perhaps; or I misunderstood my own inclinations perhaps. They don't seem to lie in that direction. I couldn't tell till I tried. Now the question is whether it's worth-while to undo all that has been done. It seems like making a great disturbance about nothing particular."
"My dear Richard," said I, "how CAN you say about nothing particular?"
"I don't mean absolutely that," he returned. "I mean that it MAY be nothing particular because I may never want it."
Both Ada and I urged, in reply, not only that it was decidedly worth-while to undo what had been done, but that it must be undone. I then asked Richard whether he had thought of any more congenial pursuit.

"You see, my precious girl," said Richard, passing her golden curls through his hand, "I was a little hasty perhaps; or I misunderstood my own inclinations. I couldn't tell till I tried. Now the question is whether it's worth-while to undo all that has been done. It seems like making a great disturbance about nothing particular."
"My dear Richard," said I, "how can you say about nothing particular?"
"I mean that it may be nothing particular because I may never need it."
Both Ada and I urged, in reply, that it was worth-while to undo what had been done, and that it must be undone. I asked Richard whether he had thought of any more congenial pursuit.
