Constance brought him up sharp with a warning kick on the ankle.

He vowed afterward that he would carry the mark to his grave.
"He's telling me what a nice chap you are, Freddie," said she sweetly.
Brock glared out of the window.

Freddie sniffed scornfully.
"I'm getting sick of this job," growled Brock under his breath.

"I didn't calculate on--" "Now, Roxbury dear, don't be a bear," she pleaded so gently, her eyes so full of appeal, that he flushed with sudden shame and contrition.
"Forgive me," he said, the old light coming back into his eyes so strongly that she quivered for an instant before lowering her own.

"I hate that confounded puppy," he explained lamely, guarding his voice with a new care.