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Halifax gathered her boys round her knee for an evening chat over the kitchen-fire; while through the open door, out of the dim parlour came "Muriel's voice," as we called the harpsichord. It seemed sweeter than ever this night, like as her father once said, but checked himself, and never said it afterwards like Muriel talking with angels.
I beg your pardon! Maud where is Maud?" "Never mind lessons just yet. We will have a little chat with my son. Uncle Phineas, you'll come? Will you come, too, my dear?" "If you wish it." And with an air of unwonted obedience, she followed Mrs. Halifax.
Even when the sun has set, and the rich tints have faded away, the full moon adds another charm to the landscape. This afternoon, as we were steaming up towards Suez, I had a chat with Mahomet, one of our Indian firemen, who was fringing a piece of muslin for a turban. I asked him if it was English.
They came presently with desultory chat to a meadow bravely decked in all the gauds of Spring. About them the day was clear, the air bland.
Thus, drawn close together in a small room at the top of the lonely house, in the warmth, the security of their comfortable home, the Joyeuse household seems like a nest right at the top of a lofty tree. The girls sew, read, chat a little.
Curran had an interesting chat with Judy Haskell on a similar theme, but with a different excuse from that which roused the Senator. The old lady knew the detective only as Arthur's friend. He approached her mysteriously, with a story of a gold mine awaiting Arthur in California, as soon as he could prove to the courts that he was really Arthur Dillon. Judy began to laugh.
"We won't keep you." It was Sweetwater who spoke. "The mare's company enough for us. She knows a lot, this mare. I can see it in her eye. I understand horses; we'll have a little chat, she and I, when you are gone." Brown cast an uneasy glance at Hexford. "He'd better not touch her," he cautioned. "He don't know the beast well enough for that." "He won't touch her," Hexford assured him.
The “4 z’Arts,” next to the “Chat Noir,” has had the greatest influence on the taste of our time,—the pleiad of poets that grouped themselves around it in the beginning, dispersing later to form other centres, which, in their turn, were to influence the minds and moods of thousands.
Suppose Mr Bickersdyke had happened to come round here. I should not have known what to say to him. 'Never an easy man to chat with, Comrade Bickersdyke, agreed Psmith. 'You must thoroughly understand that you are expected to remain in your places during business hours. 'Of course, said Psmith, 'that makes it a little hard for Comrade Jackson to post letters, does it not?
I did not really doubt his care and conscientiousness, but it is always pleasant to chat about one's self. "My five shillings subscription to the Daily Telegraph's Sixpenny Fund for the Unemployed got that down all right?" I asked him. Yes, he replied, it was entered. "As a matter of fact, now I come to think of it," I added, "it was ten shillings altogether.
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