As it was, he thought her a fine girl when he thought of her at all, and wished her more success in life than her "poor old uncle" had had.

He looked at her now across the fireplace with satisfaction.

She was something sure and pleasant in a world that swayed and was uncertain.
He was drunk enough to feel happy so long as he was not scolded.

He dreaded the moment when his brother Charles would appear, and he strove to arrange in his mind the wise and unanswerable word with which he would defend himself, but his thoughts slipped just as the firelight slipped and the floors with the old threadbare carpet.
Then suddenly the hall door opened with a jangle, there were steps in the hall, and Old Timmie Carthewe the sexton appeared in the dining-room.

He had a goat's face and a body like a hairpin.
"Rector's not been to service," he said.