He was standing in the Square with a book under his arm looking vacantly about him.

That he was heavily built and might become stout in time was a fact.
But she suspected him of being a mere bumpkin.
"There is that young man," she said, peevishly, throwing away her cigarette, "that Mr.Flanders." "Where ?" said Evan.

"I don't see him." "Oh, walking away--behind the trees now.

No, you can't see him.

But we are sure to run into him," which, of course, they did.
But how far was he a mere bumpkin?
How far was Jacob Flanders at the age of twenty-six a stupid fellow?
It is no use trying to sum people up.