"After all, you had us both to choose from." Tim shouted with delight.
"Listen to her, Miss Tennant! And for years I've been mistaking mere vulgar female vanity for maternal solicitude." "Anyway, you're a very poor compliment," threw in Major Durward, with an expressive glance at his wife's beautiful face.

It was obvious that he worshipped her, and she smiled across at him, blushing adorably, just like a girl of sixteen.
Tim turned to Sara with a grimace.
"It's a great trial, Miss Tennant, to be blessed with two parents--" "It's quite usual," interpolated Geoffrey mildly.
"Two parents," continued Tim, firmly ignoring him, "who are hopelessly, besottedly in love with each other.

Instead of being--as I ought to be--the apple of their eye--of both their eyes--I'm merely the shadowy third." Sara surveyed his goodly proportions consideringly.
"No one would have suspected it," she assured him; and Tim grinned appreciatively.
"If you stay with us long," he replied, "as I hope"-- impressively--"you will, you'll soon perceive how utterly I am neglected.

Perhaps"-- his face brightening--"you may be moved to take pity on my solitude--quite frequently." "Tim, stop being an idiot," interposed his mother placidly, holding out her cup, "and ask Miss Tennant to give me another lump of sugar." The advent of the Durwards, breaking in upon her enforced solitude, helped very considerably to arouse Sara from the natural depression into which she had fallen after Patrick's death.

With their absurdly large share of good looks, their charmingly obvious attachment to each other, and their enthusiastic, unconventional hospitality towards such an utter stranger as herself, devoid of any real claim upon them, she found the trio unexpectedly interesting and delightful.