The air seemed to be full of laughter and young voices.
Only Mrs.Friend sat shyly by herself just within the drawing-room window, a book on her knee.

A lamp behind her brought out the lines of her bent head and slight figure.
"I wonder if I like you well enough," said Helena coolly, biting at a stalk of grass--"well enough, I mean, to explain things.

I haven't made you my father confessor yet, Geoffrey." "Suppose you begin--and see how it answers," said French lazily, rolling over on the grass in front of her, his chin in his hands.
"Well, I don't mind--for fun.

Only if you preach I shall stop.

But, first of all, let's get some common ground.