"Do you write that sister of yours often?" asked Mr. Somers, as he passed me the apple jelly.
"I never write her."
"Will you tell me something of Surrey?"
"Mr. Somers, shall I give you a cup-custard?"
"No, thank you, mam."
"Surrey is lonely, evangelical, primitive."
"Belem is dreary too; most of it goes to Boston, or to India."
"Does it smell of sandal wood? And has everybody tea-caddies? Vide
Indian stories."
"We have a crate of queer things from Calcutta."
"Are you going to study law with Judge Ryder?" Mr. Bancroft inquired.