When I like people, I like them; I can't ask what they believe and what they don't believe.

We'd better not talk about it any more.' Mary's face assumed rather a hard look.
'Just as you like, my dear,' she said.
There ensued an awkward silence, which Lydia at length broke by speech on some wholly different subject.

Mary with difficulty adapted herself to the change; tea was finished rather uncomfortably.
It was six o'clock.

Lydia, hearing the hour strike, knew that Ackroyd would be waiting at the end of Walnut Tree Walk.

She was absent-minded, halting between a desire to go at once, and tell him that they could not come, and a disinclination not perhaps very clearly explained.