And see how it blooms,--scores on one standard." He pulled out a knife and began to select a handful of the finest blooms, which he presently pressed into Mary's hand.
"By the by," he remarked as she thanked him and they turned away along the path, "I wanted to have a word with you--or with Ransford.

Do you know--does he know--that that confounded silly woman who lives near to your house--Mrs.Deramore--has been saying some things--or a thing--which--to put it plainly--might make some unpleasantness for him ?" Mary kept a firm hand on her wits--and gave him an answer which was true enough, so far as she was aware.
"I'm sure he knows nothing," she said.

"What is it, Mr.Folliot ?" "Why, you know what happened last week," continued Folliot, glancing knowingly at her.

"The accident to that stranger.

This Mrs.Deramore, who's nothing but an old chatterer, has been saying, here and there, that it's a very queer thing Dr.Ransford doesn't know anything about him, and can't say anything, for she herself, she says, saw the very man going away from Dr.Ransford's house not so long before the accident." "I am not aware that he ever called at Dr.Ransford's," said Mary.