She had come to observe situations and rearrange them with that intelligence of which unconsidered emotion or exclamation form no part.
"It is the first old English house I have seen," she said, with a sigh of pleasure.

"I am so glad, Rosy--I am so glad that it is yours." She put a hand on each of Rosy's thin shoulders--she felt sharply defined bones as she did so--and bent to kiss her.

It was the natural affectionate expression of her feeling, but tears started to Rosy's eyes, and the boy Ughtred, who had sat down in a window seat, turned red again, and shifted in his place.
"Oh, Betty!" was Rosy's faint nervous exclamation, "you seem so beautiful and--so--so strange--that you frighten me." Betty laughed with the softest possible cheerfulness, shaking her a little.
"I shall not seem strange long," she said, "after I have stayed with you a few weeks, if you will let me stay with you." "Let you! Let you!" in a sort of gasp.
Poor little Lady Anstruthers sank on to a settle and began to cry again.
It was plain that she always cried when things occurred.

Ughtred's speech from his window seat testified at once to that.
"Don't cry, mother," he said.

"You know how we've talked that over together.