Impatiently she looked forward to Thursday and the coming of Dyce Lashmar.
He came, with a countenance of dubious import.

He was neither merry nor sad, neither talkative nor taciturn.

At one moment his face seemed to radiate hope; the next, he appeared to fall under a shadow of solicitude.

When his hostess talked of her son, he plainly gave no heed; his replies were mechanical.

When she asked him for an account of what he had been doing down in the country, he answered with broken scraps of uninteresting information.