He could not hear the words, but the lively tones at once suggested, "Petit blanc, mon bon frere." He recalled the words so carelessly uttered, "Of course not, for she was a quadroon," and they seemed to make harsh discord with the refrain of the song.

He remembered the vivid flush that passed over Rosa's face while her playful sister teased her with that tuneful badinage.

It seemed to him that Mr.Fitzgerald was well aware of his power, for he had not attempted to conceal his consciousness of the singer's mischievous intent.

This train of thought was arrested by the inward question, "What is it to _me_ whether he marries her or not ?" Impatiently he touched his horse with the whip, as if he wanted to rush from the answer to his own query.
He had engaged to meet Mr.Royal at his counting-house, and he was careful to keep the appointment.

He was received with parental kindness slightly tinged with embarrassment.