At the end of the room, by the farthest window, Honoria knelt over a big portfolio.

She wore the grey frock and pink sash which Taffy had seen in church that morning, and she tossed her dark hair back from her eyes as she looked up.
The Squire crumpled up the letter in his hand.
"Put the bag away," he said to the handsome gentleman.

"'Tis Sunday, I tell 'ee, and Parson will be here in an hour.

This is young six-foot I was telling about." He turned to Taffy-- "Boy, go and shake hands with Sir Harry Vyell." Taffy did as he was bidden.

"This is my son George," said Sir Harry; and Taffy shook hands with him, too, and liked his face.
"Put the bag away, Harry," said the Squire.
"Just to comfort 'ee, now!" "I tell 'ee I won't look at en." Sir Harry untied the neck of the bag, and drew out a smaller one; untied this, and out strutted a game-cock.
The old Squire eyed it.