To my dismay, I hear father say something about the chestnut colt's legs, and I know that another delay is in store for me.

Sir Roger comes over to me, and takes his wide-awake from the stand beside me.
"We are going to the stables," he says, patting my shoulder.
I make a second hideous face.

Often have I been complimented by the boys, on the flexibility of my features.
"I shall be back in ten minutes," he says, in a low voice; "will you wait for me in the morning-room ?" "I suppose I must," say I, reluctantly, with a disgusted and disappointed drawing down of the corners of my mouth.
Ten minutes pass; twenty, five-and-twenty! Still he has not come back.

I walk up and down the room; I look out the window at the gardeners rolling the grass; I rend a large and comely rose into tatters, while all manner of unpleasant possibilities stalk along in order before my mind's eye.

Perhaps Tempest is burnt down.