Meantime, Mr.Irwine turned round his chair and said, "Well, Joshua, anything the matter at Hayslope, that you've come over this damp morning?
Sit down, sit down.

Never mind the dogs; give them a friendly kick.

Here, Pug, you rascal!" It is very pleasant to see some men turn round; pleasant as a sudden rush of warm air in winter, or the flash of firelight in the chill dusk.
Mr.Irwine was one of those men.

He bore the same sort of resemblance to his mother that our loving memory of a friend's face often bears to the face itself: the lines were all more generous, the smile brighter, the expression heartier.

If the outline had been less finely cut, his face might have been called jolly; but that was not the right word for its mixture of bonhomie and distinction.
"Thank Your Reverence," answered Mr.Rann, endeavouring to look unconcerned about his legs, but shaking them alternately to keep off the puppies; "I'll stand, if you please, as more becoming.