"No, you dear silly, of course not." Another instance of the essential inconvincibility of woman.
It was Jaffery Chayne, who, on the pavement before the house in Park Crescent, threw the satin slipper at the departing carriage.

He had been very hearty and booming all the time, the human presentment of a devil-may-care lion out for a jaunt, and his great laugh thundering cheerily above the clatter of talk had infected the heterogeneous gathering.

Unconsciously dull eyes sparkled and pursy lips vibrated into smiles.

So gay a wedding reception I have never attended, and I am sure it was nothing but Jaffery's pervasive influence that infused vitality into the deadly and decorous mob.

It was a miracle wrought by a rich Silenic personality.