Beside the curbstone an old cab horse, dazzled by the light from the door, turned his head slowly toward them; and the look in his eyes, wistful, questioning, expectant, seemed to say, "This is not life, but a miracle." And from his box the red-cheeked, wheezy Irish driver gazed down on Patty with the same wistfulness, the same questioning, the same expectancy.
"I never see Patty go off in a cab that I don't feel she has thrown herself away," observed Mrs.Fowler, yawning, while she turned to the staircase.

"Archibald, I hope you had a really good time with the judge.
I must say it is like ploughing to talk to his wife." Upstairs in her room a little later Gabriella said to George: "Patty was telling me about the girl your mother wanted you to marry." He was pouring out a glass of water, and, absorbed in the act, he merely grunted for answer.

It was his disagreeable habit to grunt when grunting saved effort.
"I wish you'd talk to me, George.

It is so annoying to be grunted at." "Well, what do you want ?" he replied amiably enough.

"Patty is a regular sieve, you know.