But few women are,--very few.

You do not find a woman like Miss Deborah Woodhouse often, you know." "True enough," said Dr.Howe, pulling on his big fur gloves.

"That salad of hers, the other night, was something to live for.

What is that?
--'plunge his fingers in the salad bowl'-- 'tempt the dying anchorite to eat,'-- I can't remember the lines, but that is how I feel about Miss Deborah's salad." The rector laughed in a quick, breezy bass, beat his hands together, and was ready to start.
"Yes," said Mr.Denner, "just so,--quite so.

But Miss Deborah is a remarkable woman, an estimable woman.