"We can avoid showing that we are weak in our own opinion, whatsoever degrades us," they had said during a consultation.

Simultaneously they felt that Mr.Pericles being simply a millionaire and not In Society, being also a middle-class foreigner (a Greek whose fathers ran with naked heels and long lank hair on the shores of the Aegean), before such a man they might venture to identify this their guest with themselves an undoubted duty, in any case, but not always to be done; at least, not with grace and personal satisfaction.

Therefore, the "our friend" dispersed a common gratulatory glow.

Very small points, my masters; but how are coral-islands built?
Mrs.Chump fanned her cheek, in complete ignorance of the offence and defence.

Chump, deceased, in amorous mood, had praised her management of the fan once, when breath was in him: "'Martha,' says he, winkin' a sort of 'mavourneen' at me, ye know--'Martha! with a fan in your hand, if ye're not a black-eyed beauty of a Spaniard, ye little devil of Seville!' says he." This she had occasionally confided to the ladies.
The marital eulogy had touched her, and she was not a woman of coldly-flowing blood, she had an excuse for the constant employment of the fan.
"And well, Mr.Paricles! have ye got nothin' to tell us about foreign countesses and their slips?
Because, we can listen, sir, garls or not.
Sure, if they understand ye, ye teach 'em nothin'; and if they don't understand ye, where's the harm done?
D'ye see, sir?
It's clear in favour of talkin'." Mr.Pericles administered consolation to his moustache by twisting it into long waxy points.