Mrs.Fyne smiled mechanically (she had splendid teeth) while distributing tea and bread and butter.

A something which was not coldness, nor yet indifference, but a sort of peculiar self-possession gave her the appearance of a very trustworthy, very capable and excellent governess; as if Fyne were a widower and the children not her own but only entrusted to her calm, efficient, unemotional care.

One expected her to address Fyne as Mr.

When she called him John it surprised one like a shocking familiarity.

The atmosphere of that holiday was--if I may put it so--brightly dull.
Healthy faces, fair complexions, clear eyes, and never a frank smile in the whole lot, unless perhaps from a girl-friend.
The girl-friend problem exercised me greatly.