His mother was Mr.Smallwood's sister, and married a ne'er-do-weel-who left her penniless; at least, that is to say, if he ever had a mother--which I sometimes doubt, as he understands women so little." "Still, I think we can take that for granted," said Mrs.Herbert, smiling with pride at having seen Elisabeth's little joke, and feeling quite a wit herself in consequence.

One of the secrets of Elisabeth's popularity was that she had a knack of impressing the people with whom she talked, not so much with a sense of her cleverness as with a sense of their own.

She not only talked well herself, she made other people talk well also--a far more excellent gift.
"So," she went on, "if his uncle hadn't adopted him, I suppose Chris would have starved to death when he was a child; and that would have been extremely unpleasant for him, poor boy!" "Ah! that would have been terrible, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs.Herbert, so full of pity for Christopher that she was willing to give him anything short of her firstborn.

She was really a kind-hearted woman.
Elisabeth looked out of the window at the group of stunted shrubs with black-edged leaves which entitled Felicia's home to be called Wood Glen.
"There is one thing to be said in favour of starvation," she said solemnly, "it would keep one from getting stout, and stoutness is the cruellest curse of all.

I'd rather be dead than stout any day." "My dear child, you are talking nonsense.