There was about her a sense of white and gray with a knot of pale colour in her hat and an orchid on her white coat.

Mrs.Hastings, taking no more account of her presence than she had of St.George's, tilted back her head and looked at the primroses in the window as closely as at anything, and absently presented him.
"Olivia," she said, "this is Mr.St.John, who knows about that frightful mulatto creature.

Mr.St.George," she went on, correcting the name entirely unintentionally, "my niece, Miss Holland.

And I'm sure I wish I knew what the necessary thing to be done _is_.

That is what I always tell you, you know, Olivia.