He looked completely insignificant.

Ursula and Gudrun, both very unused, were mostly silent, listening to the slow, rhapsodic sing-song of Hermione, or the verbal sallies of Sir Joshua, or the prattle of Fraulein, or the responses of the other two women.
Luncheon was over, coffee was brought out on the grass, the party left the table and sat about in lounge chairs, in the shade or in the sunshine as they wished.

Fraulein departed into the house, Hermione took up her embroidery, the little Contessa took a book, Miss Bradley was weaving a basket out of fine grass, and there they all were on the lawn in the early summer afternoon, working leisurely and spattering with half-intellectual, deliberate talk.
Suddenly there was the sound of the brakes and the shutting off of a motor-car.
'There's Salsie!' sang Hermione, in her slow, amusing sing-song.

And laying down her work, she rose slowly, and slowly passed over the lawn, round the bushes, out of sight.
'Who is it ?' asked Gudrun.
'Mr Roddice--Miss Roddice's brother--at least, I suppose it's he,' said Sir Joshua.
'Salsie, yes, it is her brother,' said the little Contessa, lifting her head for a moment from her book, and speaking as if to give information, in her slightly deepened, guttural English.
They all waited.

And then round the bushes came the tall form of Alexander Roddice, striding romantically like a Meredith hero who remembers Disraeli.