"She's such a sensitive little thing." "Spare whose blushes, my good friend?
The girl isn't in the room.

Do you think I'd be so indelicate as to mention the sacred subject of the wedding before the bride-elect?
No, no, Beatrice isn't by, unless she is hiding behind one of the window curtains." At the word Beatrice Mrs.Bell felt her spirit sink down to zero.

She had an insane desire to take Mrs.Butler by main force, and drag her out of the room.

Poor Matty's blushes changed to pallor, and her hand shook as she pessed Miss Peters her creamless tea.

Mr.Jones also, who had been listening to the conversation in a half-hearted way suddenly felt himself turning very rigid and stiff, and the eyes which he fixed on Daisy Jenkins took a glassy stare as though he were looking through that young lady into futurity.
Mrs.Butler liked to tell her news with effect and she felt now that she had made a profound sensation.
"Good-bye," she said, holding out her hand.