“What is your name?""Again sir, that is no concern of yours.""A mystery," he said. "I shall have to call you Clorinda."....."Judith! What the devil? exclaimed Peregrine. "Has there been an accident?""Judith," repeated the gentleman of the curricle pensively. "I prefer Clorinda.”

“[...]my memory is reasonably good—unlike yours, dear sir!”“Mine is erratic,” he said imperturbably. “I remember only what interests me.”

“Were you locked in your room?" enquired Sir Richard."Oh no! I daresay I should have been if Aunt had guessed what I meant to do, but she would never think of such a thing.""Then--forgive my curiosity!--why did you climb out of the window?" asked Sir Richard."Oh, that was on account of Pug!" replied Pen sunnily."Pug?""Yes, a horrid little creature! He sleeps in a basket in the hall, and he always yaps if he thinks one is going out. That would have awakened Aunt Almeria. There was nothing else I could do."Sir Richard regarded her with a lurking smile. "Naturally not. Do you know, Pen, I owe you a debt of gratitude?""Oh!" she said again. "Do you mean that I don't behave as a delicately bred femaile should?""That is one way of putting it, certainly.""It is the way Aunt Almeria puts it.""She would, of course.""I am afraid," confessed Pen, "that I am not very well-behaved. Aunt says that I had a lamentable upbringing, because my father treated me as though I had been a boy. I ought to have been, you understand.""I cannot agree with you," said Sir Richard. "As a boy you would have been in no way remarkable; as a female, believe me, you are unique."She flushed to the roots of her hair. "I think that is a compliment.""It is," Sir Richard said, amused."Well, I wasn't sure, because I am not out yet, and I do not know any men except my uncle and Fred, and they don't pay compliments. That is to say, not like that.”

“Well, sir, do you mean to remain there, commending my father’s taste in wine, or do you mean to accompany me to Ashtead?”“Set off for Ashtead at this hour, when I have been traveling for two days?” said Sir Horace. “Now, do, my boy, have a little common sense! Why should I?”“I imagine that your parental feeling, sir, must provide you with the answer! If it does not, so be it! I am leaving immediately!”“What do you mean to do when you reach Lacy Manor?” asked Sir Horace, regarding him in some amusement.“Wring Sophy’s neck!” said Mr. Rivenhall savagely.“Well, you don’t need my help for that, my dear boy!” said Sir Horace, settling himself more comfortably in his chair.”

“Sir Richard sighed. "Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person," he said. "I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?""I am turned seventeen.""Well, I am nearly thirty," said Sir Richard.Miss Creed worked this out. "You couldn't possibly be my father!""I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.”

“I have seen what comes of being patient," Amanda said with a boding look. "And I have no opinion of it.""What does come of it?" Inquired Sir Gareth."Nothing!”

“It is now obvious to us all that he has every objection," said Randall. "You know, you had very much better withdraw, my dear aunt. I feel sure that Uncle Henry's double life is going to be exposed. My own conviction is that he has been keeping a mistress for years."[...]Mrs. Lupton flushed. "You forget yourself, Randall. I am not going to stand here and see my husband insulted by your ill-bred notions of what is funny.""Oh, I wasn't insulting him," said Randall. "Why shouldn't he have a mistress? I am inclined to think that in his place -as your spouse, my dear Aunt Gertrude- I should have several.”