He responded to March's bow almost as decidedly as the nice boy, whose mother he confronted at the other end of the table, and with his comely bulk formed an interesting contrast to her vivid slightness.

She was brilliantly dark, behind the gleam of the gold-rimmed glasses perched on her pretty nose.
If the talk had been general before the Marches came, it did not at once renew itself in that form.

Nothing was said while they were having their first struggle with the table-stewards, who repeated the order as if to show how fully they had misunderstood it.

The gentleman at the head of the table intervened at last, and then, "I'm obliged to you," March said, "for your German.

I left mine in a phrase-book in my other coat pocket." "Oh, I wasn't speaking German," said the other.