On his right cheek there'll be a lovely bright-blue scar, where a charming tiger scratched him just before he killed it with unerring aim.

I know the sort of person exactly.

And now he comes to say that he lays his battered, weather-worn old carcase at the feet of the cruel maid who spurned it when it was young and strong and beautiful.
And the cruel maid, now in the full bloom of placid maternity--I mean maturity----" "Hold your tongue or I'll pull your ears!" exclaimed Aunt Charlotte, scarlet with confusion.

"You'll make me sorry I ever said anything to you on the subject.

Mr Ogilvie, as far as I can judge from his letter, is a most polished gentleman.