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

disaster breeds famine; familiarity breeds contempt

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

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.