Edgar Jepson

“ Then he began his breakfast. Presently he heard a scurrying of swift feet; the door burst open as though persuaded by a tornado; and the Lady Felicia entered, or rather tumbled into the room, a dazzling vision of violet velvet, flushed cheeks, flying hair, and sparkling eyes—a figure which might have stepped, or, to be exact, tumbled out of a picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds.
"Good-morning, uncle," she said. "I'm sorry to be late! And I shouldn't be if Miss Caldecott didn't make me change into a picture frock to come to breakfast in. ”

“ THE LADY NOGGS APOLOGIZES I'M afraid you've had a tiring evening, Mr. Borrodaile," said the Prime Minister with gentle commiseration, pausing at his bedroom door. "It was unfortunate that those despatches came so late."
"Not at all, sir; not at all," protested his secretary.
"Well, we have disposed of them, at any rate, which is always something gained," said the Prime Minister, passing his fingers combwise through his beard; and he sighed as if an infinite load of regret for "something accomplished, something done," weighed upon his scrupulous soul. ”

“ Borrodaile put his hand hastily to his head to feel if his hair were already thinning.
The Lady Noggs sobbed on; he fidgetted, and at last said in a tone of disgust: "Don't be so inexpressibly feminine, Noggs. I was hurt, not you."
"I'm not feminine!" cried the Lady Noggs.
"Oh, yes, you are."
"I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!" cried the Lady Noggs.
There was a rustle of skirts, and a very pretty young lady came on to the lawn. Mr. Borrodaile's eyes lighted up at the sight of her, and possibly hers would have lighted up at the sight of Mr. Borrodaile; but they were not allowed. ”