Now he was in Ireland, now in France, now in Scotland, now in Yorkshire; and the bad English and the _patois_ and accent of all were imitated to the life.
With that face, that voice, that talent for imitation, Lieutenant Stanford, in another walk of life, might have made his fortune on the stage.

His power of fascination was irresistible.

Grace felt it, Eeny felt it, all felt it, except Sir Ronald Keith.

He sat like the Marble Guest, not fascinated, not charmed, black and unsmiling.
Rose, too--what was the matter with Rose?
She, so acutely alive to well-told stories, to handsome faces, so rigidly cold, and stately, and uninterested now.

She shrugged her dimpled shoulders when the table was in a roar; she opened her rather small hazel eyes and stared, as if she wondered, what they could see to laugh at.