The red remainders of autumn were almost over-powered.

Standing with his hands behind him and his back to the fire, the old sportsman listened, with a queer, distrait expression, to the girl's reading.

That he was still putting up a hard fight against relentless Time was proved by his clothes, which were those of a country-lover who dressed the part with care.

A tweed shooting-coat hung from his broad, gaunt shoulders.
Well-cut riding breeches, skin tight below his knees, ran into a pair of brown top-boots that shone like glass.

A head and shoulders taller than the average tall man, his back was bent and his chest hollow.