His people had not looked quite kindly on this engagement; they had, indeed, tried in many ways to prevent it; partly because of Miss Sherwood's poverty, and also because they knew that Lady Agnes Martling had long cared for him, and was most happily endowed with wealth and good looks also.

When he left for Canada they were inwardly glad (they imagined that something might occur to end the engagement)--all except Richard, the wiseacre of the family, the book-man, the drone, who preferred living at Greyhope, their Hertfordshire home, the year through, to spending half the time in Cavendish Square.

Richard was very fond of Frank, admiring him immensely for his buxom strength and cleverness, and not a little, too, for that very rashness which had brought him such havoc at last.
Richard was not, as Frank used to say, "perfectly sound on his pins,"-- that is, he was slightly lame, but he was right at heart.

He was an immense reader, but made little use of what he read.

He had an abundant humour, and remembered every anecdote he ever heard.