The book in question was long; it revived the narrative verse of our grandfathers; and in spite of the efforts of a 'set' the world was not disposed to take much notice of it.
'Yes, indeed! We liked it so much .-- But I think when I wrote to you I told you what we thought about it ?' And she glanced towards Manisty for support.

He, however, did not apparently hear what she said.

Mr.Bellasis also looked round in his direction; but in vain.

The poet's face clouded.
'May I ask what reading you are at ?' he said, returning to his tea.
'What reading ?'--Mrs.Burgoyne looked puzzled.
'Have you read it more than once ?' She coloured.
'No--I'm afraid--' 'Ah!--my friends tell me in Rome that the book cannot be really appreciated except at a second or third reading--' Mrs.Burgoyne looked up in dismay, as a shower of gravel descended on the tea-table.

Manisty has just beckoned in haste to his great Newfoundland who was lying stretched on the gravel path, and the dog bounding towards him, seemed to have brought the path with him.
Mr.Bellasis impatiently shook some fragments of gravel from his coat, and resumed:-- 'I have just got a batch of the first reviews.