An innocent little fool; no worse." "'Tis bad enough, I vow," laughed an old beau, who sought fame as a man of a cynical turn of humor.
"But fortunately rare," said Mr.Caryll dryly.

"Like charity, almost unknown in this Babylon." His tone was not quite nice, although perhaps the Lady Mary was the only one to perceive the note of challenge in it.

But Mr.Craske, the poet, diverted attention to himself by a prolonged, malicious chuckle.
Rotherby was just moving away from his mother at that moment.
"They've never a word for each other to-day!" he cried.

"Oh, 'Sbud! not so much as the mercy of a glance will the lady afford him." And he burst into the ballad of King Francis: "Souvent femme varie, Bien, fol est qui s'y fie!" and laughed his prodigious delight at the aptness of his quotation.
Mr.Caryll put up his gold-rimmed quizzing-glass, and directed through that powerful weapon of offence an eye of supreme displeasure upon the singer.

He could not contain his rage, yet from his languid tone none would have suspected it.