The one in pink, understand?
Golden-haired one.

Yes, yes, that's right: the one who jiggles her fingers.

Tell her to hurry." But Miss Pelham was off in the wood, self-charged with the arousing of Mr.Saunders; an hour passed before she could be found and brought into the light of Mr.Britt's reflections.

If her pert nose was capable of elevating itself in silent disdain, Mr.Saunders was not able to emulate its example.

He was not so dazzled by the sunshine of her sprightly recitals but that he could look sheep-faced in the afterglow of Britt's scorn.
Britt, with all his clever blustering, could elicit no information from the crafty head-servants.