I KNOW Grace will gradually sink down to our level again, and catch our manners and way of speaking, and feel a drowsy content in being Giles's wife.

But I can't bear the thought of dragging down to that old level as promising a piece of maidenhood as ever lived--fit to ornament a palace wi'-- that I've taken so much trouble to lift up.

Fancy her white hands getting redder every day, and her tongue losing its pretty up-country curl in talking, and her bounding walk becoming the regular Hintock shail and wamble!" "She may shail, but she'll never wamble," replied his wife, decisively.
When Grace came down-stairs he complained of her lying in bed so late; not so much moved by a particular objection to that form of indulgence as discomposed by these other reflections.
The corners of her pretty mouth dropped a little down.

"You used to complain with justice when I was a girl," she said.

"But I am a woman now, and can judge for myself....But it is not that; it is something else!" Instead of sitting down she went outside the door.
He was sorry.