"Were you not a trifle premature, in face of the proverb ?" Winston's face was a trifle grim, though he laughed.

"I'm afraid I was; but I am warned," he said.

"Excuses are, after all, not worth much, and when I make my defense it will be before a more merciful judge." Maud Barrington's curiosity was piqued.

Lance Courthorne, outcast and gambler, was at least a different stamp of man from the type she had been used to, and, being a woman, the romance that was interwoven with his somewhat iniquitous career was not without its attractions for her.
"I did not know that you included farming among your talents, and should have fancied you would have found it--monotonous," she said.
"I did," and the provoking smile still flickered in Winston's eyes.
"Are not all strictly virtuous occupations usually so ?" "It is probably a question of temperament.

I have, of course, heard sardonic speeches of the kind before, and felt inclined to wonder whether those who made them were qualified to form an opinion." Winston nodded, but there was a little ring in his voice.