It made me feel awkward and ill at ease.
Miss Mauger seemed to me very like her drawing-room, straight and precise and stiff.

Her face reminded me somewhat of Aunt Jeanne Falla's, but lacked the kindly twinkle of the eyes which redeemed Aunt Jeanne's shrewdest and sharpest speeches.

She had little fiat rows of grey curls, tight to her head, on each side of her face, for all the world like little ormer shells sticking to a stone.
"Monsieur Le Marchant ?" she asked.
"No, madame--ma'm'zelle.

I am Phil Carre." "Oh!...

You are not then one of Mademoiselle Le Marchant's brothers ?" "No, ma'm'zelle." "Oh!" "We have always been friends since we were children," I explained stumblingly, for her bright little eyes were fixed on me, through her gold-rimmed spectacles, like little gimlets, and made me feel as if I was doing something quite wrong in being there.
"Ah!" which seemed to imply that she had suspected something of the kind, and it was a good thing for Carette that she was safely removed from such companionship in the future.
"And I am going off on my first voyage to the West Indies--" "Ah!" in a tone that seemed to say that as far as she and her house were concerned it was to be hoped I would stop there.
"And I thought I would like to see Carette again before I went--" "Ah!...