"Yes, he was delighted. He confessed it was a passion with him."
"I saw you talking to the Master. He's a fine-looking fellow, but not a patch on Tom Charteris."
"Wake up, sleepy-head!"
"He asked me why I didn't hunt. I said I often thought of doing it on Neddy, only he was a buck-jumper. He said that wouldn't matter, except that all the world would be riding to hounds on donkeys presently and taking the ditches backward. He, too, is coming to call. They're all coming to call. I should like to see Bridget's face when she's expected to provide afternoon tea. If they keep ringing at the door, she won't pretend not to hear them; she has the excuse that the bell's broken. Then they'll have to go away in tears. I told that young St. Quintin, the Eton boy, so. He said, after he'd done crying, he'd come in by the window. I really believe he would. He's so cheeky."
"But you don't tell me which you liked best. I daresay they all thought you no end of a minx."
"Let me see," said Sylvia, with a dispassionate air. "Why, Lord Glengall, of course."
"Glengall! with his hatchet face and his forty odd years!"
"I think he has a dear face; his eyes are just like Pat's."
"I wouldn't think of Glengall—that is, if I were free."