"That 'Ely Twiggs' is a terrible menace to your peace of mind."
"Would you like a translation of that ugly occult phrase? It is merely a telegraphic cipher. You have conjured up a malignant chimera; rest assured it is only a dingy red-paper balloon, with a flickering taper inside. Good night. Pray allow no compunctious qualms to disturb the peace of your Methodist conscience."
"No church is responsible for errors of its members, and I wish I could believe it possible that your Episcopal conscience will allow you a night of refreshing sleep. For my dear child's sake, I hoped you would confide in me, and I regret that you withhold the truth. Good night, sir."
"Little foster-mother, remember your promise."
He held out his hand, but she declined the overture and walked away.
"My Methodist promise will bear any weight laid on it."
Without premonition, a sudden storm had swept over the city that night, and at two o'clock, when Eglah and Mr. Herriott went down the steps to enter their carriage, the stone pavement held tiny pools and rills of water.
"Wait, Eglah, your slippers will be soaked."
"I can run across on tiptoe."