Into the side-pockets of this coat were thrust bundles of papers, and under one arm was carried a queer-looking stick.

Soames noted these and other peculiarities.
No one but a clever man, or, indeed, a buccaneer, would have taken such liberties with his appearance; and though these eccentricities were revolting to Soames, he derived a certain satisfaction from them, as evidence of qualities by which he must inevitably profit.

If the fellow could build houses, what did his clothes matter?
"I told you," he said, "that I want this house to be a surprise, so don't say anything about it.

I never talk of my affairs until they're carried through." Bosinney nodded.
"Let women into your plans," pursued Soames, "and you never know where it'll end." "Ah!" Said Bosinney, "women are the devil!" This feeling had long been at the--bottom of Soames's heart; he had never, however, put it into words.
"Oh!" he Muttered, "so you're beginning to...." He stopped, but added, with an uncontrollable burst of spite: "June's got a temper of her own--always had." "A temper's not a bad thing in an angel." Soames had never called Irene an angel.

He could not so have violated his best instincts, letting other people into the secret of her value, and giving himself away.