You'll be calling me a boy next." "What else are you?
You at least are not one-and-twenty." "And how old do you call yourself, pray, miss ?" "Three-and-twenty last birthday." "A mighty difference indeed!" "Not much--only all the difference, it seems, between sense and absurdity, George." "That may be all very true of a fine gentleman, like Helmer, that does nothing from morning to night but run away from his mother; but you don't think it applies to me, Mary, I hope!" "That's as you behave yourself, George.

If you do not make it apply, it won't apply of itself.

But if young women had not more sense than most of the young men I see in the shop--on both sides of the counter, George--things would soon be at a fine pass.

Nothing better in your head than in a peacock's!--only that a peacock _has_ the fine feathers he's so proud of." "If it were Mr.Wardour now, Mary, that was spreading his tail for you to see, you would not complain of that peacock!" A vivid rose blossomed instantly in Mary's cheek.

Mr.Wardour was not even an acquaintance of hers.