Mrs.Thornburgh could have shaken her good man, especially as there was nothing new to her in his remarks; she had known to a T beforehand exactly what he would say.

She took up her knitting in a great hurry, the needles clicking angrily, her gray curls quivering under the energy of her hands and arms, while she launched at her husband various retorts as to his lack of consideration for her efforts and her inconvenience, which were only very slightly modified by the presence of a stranger.
Robert Elsmere meanwhile lay on the grass, his face discreetly turned away, an uncontrollable smile twitching the corners of his mouth.
Everything was fresh and piquant up here in this remote corner of the north country, whether the mountain air or the windblown streams, or the manners and customs of the inhabitants.

His cousin's wife, in spite of her ambitious conventionalities, was really the child of Nature to a refreshing degree.

One does not see these types, he said to himself, in the cultivated monotony of Oxford or London.

She was like a bit of a bygone world--Miss Austen's or Miss Ferrier's--unearthed for his amusement.