The sea was still quiet, but it moaned like a thing in pain.

The storm was gathering fast.
"What a lovely sunset," said Geoffrey at length.
"It is a fatal sort of loveliness," she answered; "it will be a bad night, and a wet morrow.

The wind is rising; shall we turn ?" "No, Beatrice, never mind the wind.

I want to speak to you, if you will allow me to do so." "Yes," said Beatrice, "what about, Mr.Bingham." To make good resolutions in a matter of this sort is comparatively easy, but the carrying of them out presents some difficulties.

Geoffrey, conscience-stricken into priggishness, wished to tell her that she would do well to marry Owen Davies, and found the matter hard.