Then Peter said abruptly: "Well, at least, Helena, you might promise me not to dance with Jim Donald again!" "Peter--my promises of that kind--are worth nothing! ...

I think it's getting late--we ought to be going home!" And she gave the rudder a turn for the shore.
He unwillingly complied, and after rowing through the shadow of the woods, they emerged on a moonlit slope of lawn, where was the usual landing-place.

Two persons who had been strolling along the edge of the water approached them.
"Who is that with Buntingford ?" asked Dale.
"My new chaperon.

Aren't you sorry for her ?" "I jolly well am!" cried Peter.

"She'll have a dog's life!" "That's very rude of you, Peter.