The marquis said to himself, 'I am growing old, and cannot smile at grief so well as once on a day.

Sorrow is a hawk more fell than I had thought.' The name of little Molly was never mentioned between them.

But sudden floods of tears were the signs of the mother's remembrance; and the outbreak of ambushed sighs, which he would make haste to attribute to the gout, the signs of the grandfather's.
Dorothy, too, belonged in tendency to the class of the unspeaking.

Her nature was not a bright one.

Her spirit's day was evenly, softly lucent, like one of those clouded calm grey mornings of summer, which seem more likely to end in rain than sunshine.
Lord Herbert was of a very different temperament.