I suppose I'm master in my own house.' It was strictly true, that, of the carriage.

Once the coachman had been five minutes late on an evening when Dagworthy happened to be ill-tempered.

He bade the man wait at the door, and the waiting lasted through several hours.
The room was growing dusk.
'Aren't you very lonely here ?' Jessie asked, an indescribable change in her voice.
'Yes, I suppose I am.

You won't make it any better by telling me so.' 'I feel sorry.' 'I dare say you do.' 'Of course you don't believe me.

All the same, I _do_ feel sorry.' 'That won't help.' 'No ?--I suppose it won't.' The words were breathed out on a sigh.