He was disgusted with himself for pleasing her; he confounded his fatal urbanity.

In the court-yard of the palace he overtook the Cavaliere, who had stopped at the porter's lodge to say a word to his little girl.

She was a young lady of very tender years and she wore a very dirty pinafore.

He had taken her up in his arms and was singing an infantine rhyme to her, and she was staring at him with big, soft Roman eyes.

On seeing Rowland he put her down with a kiss, and stepped forward with a conscious grin, an unresentful admission that he was sensitive both to chubbiness and ridicule.
Rowland began to pity him again; he had taken his dismissal from the drawing-room so meekly.
"You don't keep your promise," said Rowland, "to come and see me.