'Like an Irishman in clover,' he said to his wife to pay her a compliment and coax an acknowledgement: 'just the flavour of the salt of him.' Her mind was on her brother Edward, and she could not look sweet-oily, as her husband wooed her to do, with impulse to act the thing he was imagining.
'And there is to-morrow's dinner-party to the Mattocks: I cannot travel to Earlsfont,' she said.
'Patrick is a disengaged young verderer, and knows the route, and has a welcome face there, and he might go, if you're for having it performed by word of mouth.

But, trust me, my dear, bad news is best communicated by telegraph, which gives us no stupid articles and particles to quarrel with.

"Boy born Vienna doctor smiling nurse laughing." That tells it all, straight to the understanding, without any sickly circumlocutory stuff; and there's nothing more offensive to us when we're hurt at intelligence.

For the same reason, Colonel Arthur couldn't go, since you'll want him to meet the Mattocks ?' Captain Con's underlip shone with a roguish thinness.
'Arthur must be here,' said Mrs.Adister.

'I cannot bring myself to write it.