Do you forgive me ?" He had descended from the car, in speaking.

They shook hands, while the chauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scenting the possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks and listened intently.
"Forgive you?
Of course--this time, but never again," the girl laughed.
"Now, run along and get into your flannels.

I'll meet you on the driving green, in ten minutes.

Not another second, mind, or--" "I'll be on the dot," he answered.

"Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "take Miss Flint's sticks.