human
Dear Papa and Charles returned already! cried Mrs Cowper, peering through the Venetians.
gpt
Fly, Mamma! Charley, Charley, come and see whether you approve of my gown!
human
Rosa! Rosita! Sita!
gpt
Stunning! he breathed fervently.
human
Horrid shame to waste it all on a handful of politicals up in No Man's Land instead of exhibiting it at Government House. You wear this fallal on your head, I suppose?
gpt
Oh, Charley, you careless fellow! Mrs Cowper rescued the broad strip of lace with indignation.
human
My beautiful berthe! It goes on the bodice--_so_, don't you know? On my head, indeed!
gpt
But it would look ravishing wherever you wore it, averred her husband, dodging the geranium-spray she threw at him, and there followed a brisk engagement with the flowers left in the box, to which Honour listened with some secret contempt but considerable interest, as she sewed on her roses where her mother had pinned them. Honour was learning lessons which ran counter to every maxim that had influenced her hitherto, and baffled all her efforts to reconstruct her vanished world. Those were the days when phrenology was considered an indispensable aid to instructors of youth, and a professor of the science had duly felt Honour's bumps, and recorded, for the guidance of her cousins, his mature opinion that,