Sometimes I wish we had no divisions of months, and the life of the year was one quiet flow of days--oh, with no names to remind you." "But think, Leila, of losing all the poetry of the months.

Why not have no day or night?
Oh, come along.

What do you want with a sunshade and a veil--we will be mostly in the woods." "My complexion, Mr.Penhallow," cried Miss Grey gaily.
He watched her young figure as she went upstairs--the mass of darkened gold hair coiled in the classic fashion of the day on the back of her head.

She looked around from the stair.

"I shall be ready in a minute, John.