It was neither vindictive nor recriminatory, but cheerful and calm with an utter scorn.

I looked nervously at Archibald Plinlimmon.

His face was dusky red and sullen with rage; but I noted with a leap of my heart that he, too, looked Leicester squarely in the face: and from that moment (if a boy may say so) I felt there was hope for him.
The Rector unfolded and donned the surplice.

Isabel disengaged herself from Miss Belcher's arms and, drawing off her ring, handed it to her lover.

Their eyes met, and hers were smiling bravely: but they brimmed on a sudden as the tears sprang into his.