noon
-- certainly ! Why ! Because she thinks she owes me reparation -- because she pities me . And my heart tells me that I might become cruel , and mean , and vindictive , if I were to live day by day with one who created in me , while my life was at noon , a love never known in its morn , and to feel that that love 's sole return was the pity vouchsafed to the nightfall of my age . No ; if she pitied , but did not love me , when , eighteen years ago , we parted under yonder beech-tree , I should be a dotard to dream that woman 's pity mellows into love as our locks become grey , and Youth turns our vows into ridicule . It is not pride that speaks here ; it is rather humility , Dick . But we must not now talk of old age and bygones .