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On the day after the major's dinner party, Isabella was sitting in the veranda with a book open on her lap and Dido standing gravely near her. Mrs. Dallas, in the cool depths of the drawing-room, was indulging in an after-luncheon siesta. The sunlight poured itself over the velvet lawns, drew forth the perfumes from the flower-beds, and made the earth languorous with heat. "What is the initiation itself?" asked Elinor, as the girl turned away. "The very thing, Miss Pat," she agreed radiantly. "I'll look up the number for you.".
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Conrad
"I can't at present. The police are in the house; there is a lot to be attended to. Tell your mistress, Dido, that I will see her to-morrow." The others stared at him, and with the skepticism of thoroughly healthy minds refused to attach much importance to Etwald's mysticism. Jen was the first to speak, and he did so in rather a stiff way, quite different from his usual jovial style of conversation. Patricia started and looked up with a sunny smile. "Literary grandmother!" exclaimed Patricia scornfully. "She's a conceited chicken that thinks she's a nightingale because she can peep louder than some. Wait till you've had some of your stuff printed, Judy, before you boast. Anyone can scribble——".
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