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"Enjoying myself?—No, I never do that," says Rodney, with unexpected frankness.,"I don't mind," says Mona. "We are Paddies, of course.",She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound lies here," and once more turns to the door.,"Again I fail to understand," says Paul; but his very lips grow livid. "Perhaps for the second time, and with the same delicacy you used at first, you will condescend to explain.","But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, just a little impatiently.,"He may have, and a stocking full of gold, and the roc's egg, or anything else, for aught I know. I never saw it. They tell me there was an iniquitous and most unjust will drawn up some years ago by old Sir George: that is all I know.","Lies! Oh, fie!" says Doatie. "Who tells lies? Nobody, except the naughty little boys in tracts, and they always break their legs off apple-trees, or else get drowned on a Sunday morning. Now, we are not drowned, and our legs are uninjured. No, a lie is a horrid thing,—so low, and in such wretched taste. But there are little social fibs that may be uttered,—little taradiddles,—that do no harm to anybody, and that nobody believes in, but all pretend to, just for the sake of politeness.",It is the first time he has ever called her by her Christian name without a prefix. The tears rise to her eyes. Feeling herself discovered, she makes her confession slowly, without looking at him, and with an air of indifference so badly assumed as to kill the idea of her ever attaining prominence upon the stage.,"Bah!" he says, impatiently, rising from the ground and turning away. Her answer has frozen him again, has dried up the momentary desire for her approbation above all others that only a minute ago had agitated his breast.,The father said, "That is not a dog; throw it away!" The little boy cried, but his father made him take the dog out of the lodge. Then the boy found the root digger, and again picking up the dog, he carried both into the lodge, saying, "Look, mother; see what a pretty root digger I have found.","Why?" demands her mistress, somewhat haughtily. "I suppose even the English gentleman, as you call him, can see butter with dying! Show him in at once.","Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like him best, and then Longfellow. Why do you speak in that tone? Don't you like him?".