Mistress Anerley's weakness was almost conspicuous to herself--she worshipped her eldest son, perhaps the least worshipful of the family.
Willie Anerley was a fine young fellow, two inches taller than his father, with delicate features, and curly black hair, and cheeks as bright as a maiden's.

He had soft blue eyes, and a rich clear voice, with a melancholy way of saying things, as if he were above all this.
And yet he looked not like a fool; neither was he one altogether, when he began to think of things.

The worst of him was that he always wanted something new to go on with.

He never could be idle; and yet he never worked to the end which crowns the task.

In the early stage he would labor hard, be full of the greatness of his aim, and demand every body's interest, exciting, also, mighty hopes of what was safe to come of it.
And even after that he sometimes carried on with patience; but he had not perseverance.