He raised his hat to her--an unwonted attention in these parts--and she gave him her hand.
'I'm going to chapel,' she said playfully.
He had a sudden hope.
'Then your sister'll come out ?' 'No, Mr.Ackroyd; she can't to-night.

She's having tea with Mrs.Grail.' He looked down the street.

Lydia was impelled to say earnestly: 'Some time, perhaps! Thyrza is very young yet, Mr.Ackroyd.She thinks of such different things.' 'What does she think of ?' he asked, rather gloomily.
'I mean she--she must get older and know you better.

Good-bye! Mary Bower is waiting for me.' She ran on, and Ackroyd sauntered away without a glance after her..