Is it after seven ?" "Yes, ma'am.

Mr.Stanford comes home at seven, don't he?
He ought to be here soon, now.

Mother says she wishes you would come down to the parlour and sit with us of a day, instead of being moped up here." Mrs.Stanford made no reply whatever to this good-natured speech, and the sulky expression seemed to deepen on her face.

The young person, finished setting the table, and was briskly departing, when Mrs.
Stanford's voice arrested her.
"If Mr.Stanford is not here in half an hour, you can bring up dinner." As Mrs.Stanford spoke, the pink infant in the crib awoke and set up a dismal wail.

The young mother arose, with an impatient sigh, lifted the babe, and sat down in a low nurse-chair, to soothe it to sleep again.
But the baby was fretful, and cried and moaned drearily, and resisted every effort to be soothed to sleep.
"Oh, dear, dear!" Rose cried, impatiently, giving it an irritated shake.
"What a torment you are! What a trouble and wretchedness everything is!" She swayed to and fro in her rocking-chair, humming drearily some melancholy air, until, by-and-by, baby, worn out, wailingly dropped off asleep again in her arms.
As it did so, the door opened a second time, and the brisk young person entered with the first course.