sentences.

'Mais oui,' I said shyly, and being alone with her, I was not rebuffed by
her smile, especially as she encouraged me on.

I am, she told me, to see a monde of French people here in September.
So, the story of me is to be completer, or continued in September.
I could not get Miss Pollingray to tell me distinctly whether Madame la
Marquise will be one of the guests. But I know that she is not a widow.
In that case, she has a husband. In that case, what is the story of her
relations towards Mr. Pollingray? There must be some story. He would
not surely have so many portraits of her about the house (and they travel
with him wherever he goes) if she were but a lovely face to him.
I cannot understand it. They were frequent, constant visitors to one
another's estates in France; always together. Perhaps a man of Mr.
Pollingray's age, or perhaps M. le Marquis--and here I lose myself.
French habits are so different from ours. One thing I am certain of:
no charge can be brought against my Englishman. I read perfect rectitude
in his face. I would cast anchor by him. He must have had a dreadful
unhappiness.


Mama kept her promise by sending my riding habit and hat punctually, but
I had run far ahead of all the wishes I had formed when I left home, and
I half feared my ride out with Mr. Pollingray. That was before I had
received Charles's letter, letting me know the object of my invitation
here. I require at times a morbid pride to keep me up to the work. I
suppose I rode befittingly, for Mr. Pollingray praised my seat on
horseback. I know I can ride, or feel the 'blast of a horse like my own'
--as he calls it. Yet he never could have had a duller companion. My