H. Rider Haggard

“ And yet, and yet, life must end one day, and then, what? Once more that hand of ice dragged at his heart-strings.
In a moment it was all over, and Mr. Walrond was speaking. “Why don't you bid Barbara good-day, Anthony?” he asked. “Don’t you think she looks well, considering? We do—better than you in fact,” he added, glancing at his face, which had suddenly grown pale, almost grey.
“He’s going to give Barbara the violets, and doesn’t know how to do it,” piped the irrepressible Janey. “Anthony, why didn’t you ever bring us violets when we had the whooping cough?” ”

“ Looking at her it was easy to see whence Barbara and her other daughters inherited their beauty and air of breeding.
“How are you, Anthony?” she went on, one eye still fixed upon the burnt beef. “It is good of you to come, though you are late, which I suppose is why that girl has burnt the meat.”
“Not a bit,” called out one of the children—it was Janey; “it is very good of us to have him when there’s only one duck. Anthony, you mustn't eat duck, as we don’t often get one, and you have hundreds.” ”

“ Walrond severely, “especially as I was mistaken. It is very rude of your father to make remarks about the meat.”
“Well, something is burning, my love.”
Janey, who was sitting next to Anthony, paused from her meal to sniff, then exclaimed in a voice of delight: “Oh! it is Anthony’s coat tails. Just look, they are turning quite brown! Why, Anthony, you must be as beautifully done as the beef. If you can sit there and say nothing, you are a Christian martyr wasted, that’s all.” ”