Scott always wrote about gentlemen.

A great fire of hickory logs blazed on the wide hearth.
Colonel Kenton was alone in the room.

He stood at the edge of the hearth, with his back to the fire and his hands crossed behind him.
His tanned face was slightly pale, and Harry saw that he had been subjected to great nervous excitement, which had not yet wholly abated.
The colonel was a tall man, broad of chest, but lean and muscular.
He regarded his son attentively, and his eyes seemed to ask a question.
"Yes," said Harry, although his father had not spoken a word.

"I've heard of it, and I've already seen one of its results." "What is that ?" asked Colonel Kenton quickly.
"As I came through town Bill Skelly, a mountaineer, shot at Arthur Travers.

It came out of hot words over the news from Charleston.
Nobody was hurt, and they've sent Skelly on his pony toward his mountains." Colonel Kenton's face clouded.
"I'm sorry," he said.