"Sweet on him--eh, ma'am ?" she whispered in my ear; "we shall have a wedding in Dimchurch." In presence of these kissings and whisperings, Mrs.
Gootheridge's brother, as the only man present, began to look very uncomfortable.

This worthy creature belonged to that large and respectable order of Englishmen, who don't know what to do with their hands, or how to get out of a room.

I took pity on him--he was, I assure you, a fine man.

"Smoke your pipe, sir, in the garden," I said.

"We will call to you from the window, if we want you up here." Mrs.Gootheridge's brother cast on me one look of unutterable gratitude--and escaped, as if he had been let out of a trap.
At last, the doctor came.
His first words were an indescribable relief to us.