Dick was boisterously talkative.

The others scarcely spoke.

At length Hetty, who had been struggling to swallow a biscuit, and well-nigh choking over it, rose abruptly, kissed her mother, and went straight to her father's room.
He sat at his writing-table, busy as usual with his commentary upon the Book of Job.

At another table by the window Johnny Whitelamb bent over a map, with his back to the light.

He glanced up as she entered: she could not well read his eyes for the shadow, and perhaps for some dimness in her own: but he rose, gathered his papers together, and slipped from the room.
"Papa, Dick Ellison is in the parlour." "So my ears inform me." "He wishes to see you." "Then you may take him my compliments and assure him that he will not." "But, papa, the gig is at the door.