A Scotchman would have called him "_fey_," and been certain that misfortune was at his heels.

And Charlotte looked at him in wondering pity, for Harry's face was the face of a man determined to carry out his own will regardless of consequences.
"Come, come, Harry," said the squire in a loud, cheerful voice, "you are moping, and eating no breakfast.

Charlotte will have to fill three times before it is 'cup down' with me.

I think we will take Dobbin, and go over to Windermere in the tax-cart.

The roads will be a bit sloppery, but Dobbin isn't too old to splash through them at a rattling pace.