I must tell you," she went on, directly addressing Isabel, "that Osmond doesn't often invite me; I don't think he likes to have me.

It was quite my own idea, coming to-day.

I like to see new people, and I'm sure you're very new.

But don't sit there; that chair's not what it looks.

There are some very good seats here, but there are also some horrors." These remarks were delivered with a series of little jerks and pecks, of roulades of shrillness, and in an accent that was as some fond recall of good English, or rather of good American, in adversity.
"I don't like to have you, my dear ?" said her brother.