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MY GENTLEMAN ON THE ROAD.
The postillion had every reason to believe that he carried a real gentleman behind him; in other words, a purse long and liberal.

He judged by all the points he knew of: a firm voice, a brief commanding style, an apparent indifference to expense, and the inexplicable minor characteristics, such as polished boots, and a striking wristband, and so forth, which will show a creature accustomed to step over the heads of men.

He had, therefore, no particular anxiety to part company, and jogged easily on the white highway, beneath a moon that walked high and small over marble clouds.
Evan reclined in the chariot, revolving his sensations.

In another mood he would have called, them thoughts, perhaps, and marvelled at their immensity.