He knew that he lived not exactly as though born here and grown up with it all.

But it was also true that he had a native sense of courtesy which people called distinguished.
There was ever a kind of mannered deliberation in his bearing--a part of his dramatic temper, and because his father had taught him dignity where there were no social functions for its use.

His manner had, therefore, a carefulness which in him was elegant artifice.
It could not be complained that he did not act after the fashion of gentle people when with them.

But it was equally true that he did many things which the friends of his family could not and would not have done.

For instance, none would have pitched a tent in the grounds, slept in it, read in it, and lived in it--when it did not rain.