He found means to survey Harran and Magnus.

Certainly, neither his father nor his brother were dressed for the function that impended.

He had been stupid.

Magnus invariably attracted attention, and now with his trousers strapped under his boots, his wrinkled frock coat--Lyman twisted his cuffs into sight with an impatient, nervous movement of his wrists, glancing a second time at his brother's pink face, forward curling, yellow hair and clothes of a country cut.

But there was no help for it.