A polite smile played round the lower part of his countenance, whilst watchfulness and wrath glared out from the two upper windows.

What had been said or done?
Nothing that might not have been performed or uttered before the most decent, polite, or pious company.

Why then should Madam Esmond continue to blush, and the brave Colonel to look somewhat red, as he shook his young friend's hand?
The Colonel asked Mr.George if he had had good sport?
"No," says George, curtly.

"Have you ?" And then he looked at the picture of his father, which hung in the parlour.
The Colonel, not a talkative man ordinarily, straightway entered into a long description of his sport, and described where he had been in the morning, and what woods he had hunted with the king's officers; how many birds they had shot, and what game they had brought down.

Though not a jocular man ordinarily, the Colonel made a long description of Mr.
Braddock's heavy person and great boots, as he floundered through the Virginian woods, hunting, as they called it, with a pack of dogs gathered from various houses, with a pack of negroes barking as loud as the dogs, and actually shooting the deer when they came in sight of him.
"Great God, sir!" says Mr.Braddock, puffing and blowing, "what would Sir Robert have said in Norfolk, to see a man hunting with a fowling-piece in his hand, and a pack of dogs actually laid on to a turkey!" "Indeed, Colonel, you are vastly comical this afternoon!" cries Madam Esmond, with a neat little laugh, whilst her son listened to the story, looking more glum than ever.