"It is very mild," he said.

"Lady Mary likes the air." There was a note of authority in his tone which somehow impressed Lady Belstone, who withdrew, muttering to herself, into the warm lamplight of the drawing-room.
Perhaps the two old ladies were to be pitied, too, as they sat together, but forlorn, sincerely shocked and uneasy at their sister-in-law's behaviour.
"Dear Timothy not dead three months, and she sitting out there in the night air, as he would never have permitted, talking and laughing; yes, I actually hear her laughing--with John." "There is no telling what she may do _now_," said Miss Crewys, gloomily.
"I declare it is a judgment, Georgina.

Why did Timothy choose to trust a perfect stranger--even though John is a cousin--with the care of his wife and son, and his estate, rather than his own sisters ?" "It was a gentleman's work," said Miss Crewys.
"Gentleman's fiddlesticks! Couldn't old Crawley have done it?
I should hope he is as good a lawyer as young John any day," said Lady Belstone, tossing her head.

"But I have often noticed that people will trust any chance stranger with the property they leave behind, rather than those they know best." "Isabella," said Miss Crewys, "blame not the dead, and especially on a moonlight night.

It makes my blood run cold." "I am blaming nobody, Georgina; but I will say that if poor Timothy thought proper to leave everything else in the hands of young John, he might have considered that you and I had a better right to the Dower House than poor dear Mary, who, of course, must live with her son." "I am far from wishing or intending to leave my home here, Isabella," said Miss Crewys.