Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. You disgust me. Ruth had not expected to be kissed; so the omission passed unnoted. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. Challenge accepted. I wish she wouldn’t look like that at us over her glasses. I expect you had been snubbing him terribly.
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