"It would be dreadful if they met and he noticed anything.

That was why I wished him to go." "Then you were only just in time," remarked her brother, "for I hear the gate go, and--yes, you see." As he spoke a cheery hail came from outside, with a sharp rat-tat at the window.

Robert stepped out and threw open the door to admit a tall young man, whose black frieze jacket was all mottled and glistening with snow crystals.

Laughing loudly he shook himself like a Newfoundland dog, and kicked the snow from his boots before entering the little lamplit room.
Hector Spurling's profession was written in every line of his face.
The clean-shaven lip and chin, the little fringe of side whisker, the straight decisive mouth, and the hard weather-tanned cheeks all spoke of the Royal Navy.

Fifty such faces may be seen any night of the year round the mess-table of the Royal Naval College in Portsmouth Dockyard--faces which bear a closer resemblance to each other than brother does commonly to brother.