I'd much rather come and sit with you, but mother may want me.' Lydia asked: 'Has Mr.Ackroyd been here lately ?' 'I haven't seen him.

I hope not.' 'Why do you say that, Mary ?' asked Lydia impatiently.
'I only say what I think, dear.' Lydia for once succeeded in choosing wiser silence.

But that look which had no place upon her fair, open countenance came for a moment, a passing darkness which might be forecast of unhappy things.
At four o'clock on the following afternoon--this Christmas fell on a Friday--everything was ready in Walnut Tree Walk for Mr.Boddy's arrival.

The overcoat, purchased by Lydia after a vast amount of comparing and selecting, of deciding and rejecting and redeciding, was carefully hidden, to be produced at a suitable moment.

The bitter coldness of the day gladdened the girls now that they knew the old man would go away well wrapped up.