She was a horrible old woman with a broad face, blunt features and a raucous voice, whose tones added acridity to her observations when she was indulging in her favourite pastime of interfering with the business of her acquaintances and relations.
"I do not know what you are going chasing off to America for, Nigel," she commented.

"You can't afford it and it is perfectly ridiculous of you to take it upon yourself to travel for pleasure as if you were a man of means instead of being in such a state of pocket that Maria tells me you cannot pay your tailor.

Neither the Bishop nor I can do anything for you and I hope you don't expect it.

All I can hope is that you know yourself what you are going to America in search of, and that it is something more practical than buffaloes.

You had better stop in New York.