A faint flush swept into Brigit's face under the effect of an experience so novel.
Brigit made the tea, following the English custom taught her by Pense.
Brigit, vastly amused by their discussing her as if she were not present, gave a bit of roll to the dog.
When they met in the morning, Brigit seemed to have aged by ten years.
Brigit ate a piece of fruit tart, a bit of cheese, and rose languidly.
She held Brigit's hand, and exchanged a long glance with Father Foster.
The old man bustled away, and Brigit, after a few minutes' reflection, went to her mother's room.
“The carriage is at the door,” whispered Pense, touching Brigit's arm.
Late in life Brigit's influence over young people was unbounded: for her very gentleness gave tenfold power to her words.
I said encouragingly, and Brigit smiled gayly at me; but Monny was looking at Fenton.