Mr.Carlyon," looking at him severely, "you have left the sifted sugar on the kitchen table; please go and fetch it.

Mr.Herrick, are you fond of raspberries?
These are from our own garden--Johnson gathered them this morning." "They are just prime!" exclaimed Cedric--"food for the Olympian gods, ambrosia and nectar too.

Come along, David, or there will be none left for you.

Sit down, man, no one wants you to be waiting on us." "Yes, do sit down, please," observed Elizabeth softly; and Mr.Carlyon slipped at once into the empty chair beside her.
It really was a pleasant little tea-party, and Malcolm quite forgot his longing to be back in the drawing-room at the Wood House.

Indeed, he was in high good-humour, and told his best stories, quite convulsing Mr.Carlyon with his comic ones; indeed, he made himself so agreeable and entertaining--he so threw himself into the spirit of their informal picnic--that Elizabeth's bright eyes rested on his dark face more than once with marked approval.