Horace couldn't get rid of his, and I couldn't get rid of mine.

But now all is well.

How do you do, Lady Constance?
Have you had enough tea, and will you come and see my books ?" He carried her off, Connie extremely nervous, and wondering into what bogs she was about to flounder.
But she was a scholar's daughter, and she had lived with books.

She would have scorned to pretend, and her pose, if she had one, was a pose of ignorance--she claimed less than she might.

But the Master soon discovered that she had many of her father's tastes, that she knew something of archaeology--he bore it even when she shyly quoted Lanciani--that she read Latin, and was apparently passionately fond of some kinds of poetry.