In these little torments young people have to pass through they gain a rapid maturity.

Let a girl talk with her own heart an hour, and she is almost a woman.

Rose came down-stairs dressed for riding.
Laxley was doing her the service of smoking one of her rose-trees.

Evan stood disengaged, prepared for her summons.

She did not notice him, but beckoned to Laxley drooping over a bud, while the curled smoke floated from his lips.
'The very gracefullest of chimney-pots-is he not ?' says the Countess to Harry, whose immense guffaw fails not to apprise Laxley that something has been said of him, for in his dim state of consciousness absence of the power of retort is the prominent feature, and when he has the suspicion of malicious tongues at their work, all he can do is silently to resent it.