Of course the poor lady was at her wits' ends, not knowing whether to treat her as a new-born baby or a buffalo.

With equal inevitability, Liosha, unaccustomed to this type of Western woman, summed her up in a drastic epithet.

And in the meanwhile Jaffery went about tearing hair and beard and cursing the fate that put him in charge of a volcano in petticoats.
"I have a great regard for Euphemia," said Barbara, later in the day--they were walking up and down the terrace in, the dusk before dinner--"but I have some sympathy with Liosha.

Tolstoi! My dear Jaffery! And the City Temple! If she wanted to take the girl to church, why not her own church, the Brompton Oratory or Farm Street ?" "Euphemia wouldn't attend a Popish place of worship--she still calls it Popish, poor dear--to save her soul alive, or anybody else's soul," replied Jaffery.
"Then pack her off at once to Tunbridge Wells," said Barbara.

"She's even more helpless than you, which is saying a great deal.