She put her hands on my shoulders and eyed me all over critically.
"Pray, little Quakeress," said she, "can you tell me what has become of my friend Margery ?" "Yes," said I laughing, "I actually happen to have her about me.

What do you want with her ?" "Only to ask her what sin she has committed that she shuts herself up from the world, starves herself to skin and bone, and dresses herself in sackcloth ?" she replied, touching my dress, and trying its texture between her finger and thumb.
"We do not starve her," put in Mopsie stoutly.
"And who are you, little miss ?" said Grace, using a gold-rimmed eye-glass, which nearly annihilated poor Mopsie.
"No matter," said the little one, scarlet and trembling.

"We are all Margery's friends, and we love her dearly." Grace laughed at the child's ardour, as if it were something very funny and original; but Mopsie, never flinching, held my hand all the time.
"And what about the ploughman, dear ?" Grace went on; "would it be possible to get a sight of him?
Yes, do go" (to Mopsie), "like a useful little girl, and see about getting us some lunch.

We are staying in this country at present, Margery, and when we return to London we intend to take you with us." Mopsie's eyes dilated dangerously, but she retreated to the door at a whisper from me.
"Frederick," said Grace, "come and help me to persuade Margery;" and Mopsie vanished.
I said something about Frederick Tyrrell before, but I can hardly describe how excessively slim, and elegant, and effeminate he looked to me that day in particular.

His dress and his manners amused me very much.