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