"I told you she was here." "She's not _staying_ here ?" "Yes, she is.

She is rather nice, only she says the guinea-pigs smell nasty, which isn't true.

She _will_ be late,"-- with evident concern--"if she is going to be laced up; and I know she is, because I saw it on her bed.

She doesn't see us yet.

Let us go and meet her." "Run along, then," said Charles, in a lone of deep dejection, loosing Molly's hand.