She looked up with a sort of start.
"Qu' avez-vous, mademoiselle ?" said she.

"Vos doigts tremblent comme la feuille, et vos joues sont rouges: mais, rouges comme des cerises!" "I am hot, Adele, with stooping!" She went on sketching; I went on thinking.
I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceiving respecting Grace Poole; it disgusted me.

I compared myself with her, and found we were different.

Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady; and she spoke truth--I was a lady.

And now I looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me; I had more colour and more flesh, more life, more vivacity, because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments.
"Evening approaches," said I, as I looked towards the window.