Wrotham flushed and bit his lip.
"That's a one--er for me," he said lazily.

"Pretty kitten as you are, Miss Grace, you can scratch! That's always the worst of women,--they've got such infernally sharp tongues----" "Grace!" interrupted her mother, at this juncture--"You are wanted in the kitchen." Grace took the maternal hint and retired at once.

At that instant Tom o' the Gleam stirred slightly from his hitherto rigid attitude.

He had only taken half his glass of brandy, but that small amount had brought back a tinge of colour to his face and deepened the sparkle of fire in his eyes.
"Good roads for motoring about here!" he said.
Lord Wrotham looked up,--then measuring the great height, muscular build, and commanding appearance of the speaker, nodded affably.
"First-rate!" he replied.

"We had a splendid run from Cleeve Abbey." "Magnificent!" echoed Brookfield.