He was not something over six feet two; nor was he dressed in wonderful clothes into which he might have been poured in liquid form.
He was a cheery, square-shouldered, good-natured looking fellow with laughter in his gray eyes and a little quizzical smile playing round a good firm mouth.

He looked like a man who ought to have been in the navy and who, instead, gave the impression of having been born among horses.

His small, dark head was bare; his skin had already caught the sun, and as he stood in his brown sweater with his hands thrust into the pockets of his riding breeches, he seemed to her to be just exactly like the brother that she ought to have had if she had had any luck at all, and she held out a friendly hand with a comfortable feeling of absolute security.
With some self-consciousness he took it and bowed with a nice touch of deference.

He tried to hide the catch in his breath and the admiration in his eyes.

"I'm glad it's spring," he said, not knowing quite what he was saying.
"So am I," said Joan.