'Sitting three' as they were, he was touching her, and it seemed to her somehow that he did not mind.
The wind had risen, blowing from the West, and sunshine was flying on it.

The call of the cuckoos--a little sharpened--followed the swift-travelling car.

And that essential sweetness of the moor, born of the heather roots and the South-West wind, was stealing out from under the young ferns.
With her thin nostrils distended to this scent, Lady Casterley bore a distinct resemblance to a small, fine game-bird.
"You smell nice down here," she said.

"Now, Mr.Courtier, before I forget--who is this Mrs.Lees Noel that I hear so much of ?" At that question, Barbara could not help sliding her eyes round.

How would he stand up to Granny?
It was the moment to see what he was made of.