"You look very nice, Molly—very nice, indeed; but I never knew you look otherwise."
"You dear old boy!" She gave him her hand. "You always try to spoil a simple shepherdess."
"But, I say, Molly, is this kind of marble hall good for study? Does it bring you nearer to Mrs. Siddons? Does it suit the cothernus? Methinks the liquefaction of black velvet more befits the tragic muse than the frou-frou of the flowered silk."
"Very well put, Dick. I will remember."
"Tell me something about them, Molly. If I am to entertain them, you know——"
"Mr. John Haveril—whom I call John, for short—is slow of speech. Don't take that, however, for dulness. Everybody says he's as sharp as a razor. And he speaks slowly, and he's got a way while he talks of gazing far away."
"And madam? She looks like a saint in sadness because she's got to wear cloth of gold instead of sackcloth."
"She is in delicate health. Her husband is always anxious about her. Dick, he has many millions, and you always used to say that a man can't get rich honestly; but he does seem honest, and he's awfully fond of his wife."
"A man may be fond of his wife and yet not austerely honest. Go on, Molly, before they come in."