"Who is that ?" "Which ?" asked Mrs.St.Pierre Lawrence, without turning to follow the direction of his glance.
"Oh! one is Dormer Colville, I see that.

But the other--gad!" "Why do you say gad ?" asked the lady, with surprise.
"Where did he get that face from ?" was the reply.
Turner took off his hat and mopped his brow; for it was very hot and the August sun was setting over a copper sea.
"Where we all get our faces from, I suppose!" answered Mrs.St.Pierre Lawrence, with her easy laugh.

She was always mistress of the situation.
"The heavenly warehouse, one supposes.

His name is Barebone.

He is a friend of Dormer's." "Any friend of Dormer Colville's commands my interest." Mrs.St.Pierre Lawrence glanced quickly at her companion beneath the shade of her lace-trimmed parasol.
"What do you mean by that ?" she asked, in a voice suddenly hard and resentful.
"That he chooses his friends well," returned the banker, with his guileless smile.