disaster breeds famine; familiarity breeds contempt

He tried to persuade Cicely to stay away from the ball-room for a fourth dance. […] But she said she must go back, and when they joined the crowd again […] she found her mother standing up before the seat on which she had sat all the evening searching anxiously for her with her eyes, and her father by her side.

There was a faint rose acronical glow high in the room, the beginning of twilight.

Oh, two little devils with rattlesome chains, / She up with the poker, she knocked out their brains.