You are at home in more intellectual spheres than that of the sick-room.

And now," he wiped his mouth with his napkin, twinkling at her over the top of it with small blue-grey eyes, at once merry, faithful, and cunning--"I'll be bidding you good-bye till the evening.

I have told Mary Fisher I'll be glad to sleep here to-night.

And I'll despatch a telegram to Sir Charles on my way through the village." "Sir Charles ?" Theresa cried.
"Yes," he answered her.

"I find the darling girl's illness as serious as that.".