And Mrs.Verrier, after observing her for a moment, resumed: "I suppose it was the Bostonians ?" "I suppose so.

What does it matter ?" The tone was dry and sharp.
"Daphne, you goose!" laughed Mrs.Verrier, "I believe this is the very first invitation of theirs he has accepted at all.

He was written to about them by an old friend--his Eton master, or somebody of that sort.
And as they turned up here on a visit, instead of his having to go and look for them at Boston, of course he had to call upon them." "I dare say.

And of course he had to go to tea with them yesterday, and he had to take them to Arlington this afternoon! I suppose I'd better tell you--we had a quarrel on the subject last night." "Daphne!--don't, for heaven's sake, make him think himself too important!" cried Mrs.Verrier.
Daphne, with both elbows on the table, was slowly crunching a morsel of toast in her small white teeth.

She had a look of concentrated energy--as of a person charged and overcharged with force of some kind, impatient to be let loose.