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Updated: May 3, 2025
"If we was on callin' terms with the Marshs," said Matilda, meditatively, "Mis' Marsh might be bringin' her here." "Not twice," returned Grandmother, with determination. "This is my house, and I've got something to say about who comes in it. I wouldn't even have Mis' Marsh now, after she's been hobnobbin' with the likes of her."
Here was a fresh cause of antipathy to the approaching Miss Vancourt. No one but a careless woman, devoid of all taste and good feeling, would name a dog after the greatest of Greek philosophers! "Plato's a good name," went on Bainton meditatively, unconscious of the view his master was taking of that name in his own mind; "I've 'eard it somewheres before, though I couldn't tell just where.
Decius will do no good. No one’s safe! Farewell, my friends! I am going. Like poor dear Callista, I shall be in prison, and, like her, find myself dumb!... Ah! yes, Callista; how did you find her?” “O dear, sweet, suffering girl!” cried her brother. “Yes, indeed!” answered Jucundus; “yes!” meditatively. “She is a dear, sweet, suffering girl!
"Well now," said John Potter, gazing meditatively into the fireplace where Nora had evoked a tiny flame, "that is strange. This Eddystun Rock seems to have what I may call a pecooliar destiny. The builder of the first light'ouse was a country gentleman; of the second, a silk-mercer; and now, as you say, the third is to be put up by a maker o' mathymatical instruments.
"Ter be sartain, the officers will kem on this place arter a while," he said meditatively. Then he shook his head doubtfully. The crag was far from any house, and except the dwellers on Goliath Mountain, few people knew of this great niche in it. "They war sly foxes what stowed away thar plunder hyar!" he exclaimed in despair.
Rose could have blessed him for thus turning the conversation. What on earth could she have said next? She stood bantering a little longer, and then ran off with Bob. Elsmere passed the rest of the morning wandering meditatively over the cloudy fells. After all he was only where he was before the blessed madness, the upflooding hope, nay, almost certainty, of yesterday.
Then she closed the door again, and stood looking at it meditatively for a moment. It had a lock and key; yet it had never been locked in the years they had lived on the Sagalac. She did not know whether the key would turn in the lock. After a moment's hesitation, she shrugged her shoulders and turned the key. It rasped, proved stubborn, but at last came home with a click.
"Was he born in this neighborhood?" "I think he came from the West." "Does he say from what part of the western country?" "He says very little about his past life." Roland Reed smiled significantly. "Perhaps he has his reasons," he said meditatively. "Is he thought to be rich?" he asked, after a pause. "Yes, but how rich no one knows.
Finest cawfee in the world, sir." Mac poured it down without seeming to bother about tasting it. They sat quite still after that, till the Colonel said meditatively: "You and I had a little account to settle, didn't we?" "I'm ready." But neither moved for several moments. "See here, Mac: you haven't been ill or anything like that, have you?" "No."
Once when they had left the car and were walking about the grounds of an inn, she found that one of her silk stockings had worn through at the heel. She lifted up her foot and looked at it meditatively. "Now, if I had some ink I could fix that up so quickly," she said, laughing. "What would you do?" he asked. "I would black it," she replied, referring to her pink heel, "or you could paint it."
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