"No, ma'am, I'm not," said the Braided Morning Coat with honorable boldness.
"But Phil-ipp!"
"It's the truth, Mater. Mrs. Cathcart asks a plain question, and there's a plain answer. And after all, I'm the chap—"
"Quite so, Mr. Shelmerdine," said Lady Macbeth, looking almost as wise as the Lord Chief Justice of England as he sits in the Court of Appeal. "This is your affair. You have a right to know your own mind—moreover, you have a right to express it."
The Braided Morning Coat felt the stronger for this well-timed assistance. It was easy to see from which side of the family Miss Mary had inherited her strong, good sense. A masterful old thing, but she really was helpin' a lame dog over a stile, wasn't she?
Blonder and blander grew the Colthurst of Suffolk. It really looked as though it might be a pretty set-to.
"Perhaps Phil-ipp, if you looked into your club for an hour—"
The Green Chartreuse, the horrid coward, wanted to quit the stricken field prematurely,[p3—should be period not comma] But if he had, as sure as Fate, Mother would have won quite easily. Hapily he did not. Mr. Philip stuck to his guns like a Briton, and Grandmamma at least thought none the worse of him for it. The Lady Macbeth to John Peter Kendall had an opinion of her own on nearly every
