I like his shape, I like his style; and I'm counted a bit of a judge.

He's a gentleman, and a high-bred 'n at that." Stafford rode down the winding drive at which the gardeners were at work on borders and shrubberies, and on to the road.

The air was like champagne.

The slight breeze just ruffled the lake on which the sun was glittering; Stafford was conscious of a strange feeling of eagerness, of quickly thrilling vitality which was new to him.

He put it down to the glorious morning, to the discovery of the affection of his father, to the good horse that stepped as lightly as an Arab, and carried him as if he were a feather; and yet all the while he knew that these did not altogether account for the electric eagerness, the "joy of living" which possessed him.
He pulled up for a moment at The Woodman Inn to thank Mr.Groves for the port, and that gentleman came out, as glad to see him as if he were an old friend.
"Don't mention it, sir," he said.