Crosbie was a pleasant man for ladies in a large house.
Though a sportsman, he was not so keen a sportsman as to be always out with the gamekeepers.

Though a politician, he did not sacrifice his mornings to the perusal of blue-books or the preparation of party tactics.

Though a reading man, he did not devote himself to study.
Though a horseman, he was not often to be found in the stables.

He could supply conversation when it was wanted, and could take himself out of the way when his presence among the women was not needed.
Between breakfast and lunch on the day following his arrival he talked a good deal to the countess, and made himself very agreeable.
She continued to ridicule him gently for his prolonged stay among so primitive and rural a tribe of people as the Dales, and he bore her little sarcasm with the utmost good-humour.
"Six weeks at Allington without a move! Why, Mr Crosbie, you must have felt yourself to be growing there." "So I did--like an ancient tree.

Indeed, I was so rooted that I could hardly get away." "Was the house full of people all the time ?" "There was nobody there but Bernard Dale, Lady Julia's nephew." "Quite a case of Damon and Pythias.