I scarcely ever saw her come in without thinking afresh how odd it was that, being so little in herself, she should yet be so much in others.
She was a meagre little Miss Churm, but was such an ample heroine of romance.

She was only a freckled cockney, but she could represent everything, from a fine lady to a shepherdess, she had the faculty as she might have had a fine voice or long hair.

She couldn't spell and she loved beer, but she had two or three "points," and practice, and a knack, and mother-wit, and a whimsical sensibility, and a love of the theatre, and seven sisters,--and not an ounce of respect, especially for the H.The first thing my visitors saw was that her umbrella was wet, and in their spotless perfection they visibly winced at it.

The rain had come on since their arrival.
"I'm all in a soak; there WAS a mess of people in the 'bus.

I wish you lived near a stytion," said Miss Churm.