My mother is expecting me," said Peter.
He would not express any thanks.

What business had the presuming old woman to invite him to luncheon?
It was not her house, after all.
"Oh, your mother is expecting you," said Lady Tintern, whose slightly derisive manner of repeating Peter's words embarrassed and annoyed the young gentleman exceedingly.

"I am glad you are such a dutiful son, Sir Peter." She gathered together her letters and her black draperies, and tottered off to the door, which Peter, who was sadly negligent of _les petits soins_ forgot to open for her; nor did he observe the indignant look she favoured him with in consequence.
Sarah came into the drawing-room at last; fresh as the morning dew, in her summer muslin and fluttering, embroidered ribbons; with a bunch of forget-me-nots, blue as her eyes, nestling beneath her round, white chin.

Her bright hair was curled round her pretty ears and about her fair throat, but Peter did not compare this _coiffure_ to a fashion plate, though, indeed, it exactly resembled one.

Neither did he cast the severely critical glance upon Sarah's _toilette_ that he had bestowed upon the soft, grey gown, and the cluster of white moss-rosebuds which poor Lady Mary had ventured to wear that morning.
"How have you managed to offend Aunt Elizabeth, Peter ?" cried Sarah, with her usual frankness.