Eyes of that sort ruin a man for my taste.

He might just as reasonably wear my hat." "But he can't follow the fashions in eyes," laughed Sylvia.

"Oh, this is atrocious of us--it is simply horrible to sit here and say such things.
I am cold-blooded enough as it is--material enough, mean, covetous, contemptible--" "Dear!" said Grace Ferrall mildly, "you are not choosing a husband; you are choosing a career.

To criticise his investments might be bad taste; to be able to extract what amusement you can out of Howard is a direct mercy from Heaven.

Otherwise you'd go mad, you know." "Grace! Do you wish me to marry him ?" "What is the alternative, dear ?" "Why, nothing--self-respect, dowdiness, and peace." "Is that all ?" "All I can see." "Not Stephen Siward ?" "To marry?
No.