He looked as like his ancestors as anything outside of a painted picture could do.

His flushed face, his flashing eyes, his passionate exclamations, the stamp of his foot, the blow of his hand, the threatening attitude of his whole figure was but a replica of his great-grandfather, Anthony Rawdon, giving Radicals at the hustings or careless keepers at the kennels "a bit of his mind." "'Mostyn, seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon! Rawdon Court lies at Mostyn's gate! Natural that the Mostyns should succeed the Rawdons! Bought the right by a dozen intermarriages!' Confound the impudent rascal! Does he think I will see Squire Rawdon rogued out of his home?
Not if I can help it! Not if Ethel can help it! Not if heaven and earth can help it! He's a downright rascal! A cool, unruffled, impudent rascal!" And these ejaculations were followed by a bitter, biting, blasting hailstorm of such epithets as could only be written with one letter and a dash.
But the passion of imprecation cooled and satisfied his anger in this its first impetuous outbreak, and he sat down, clasped the arms of his chair, and gave himself a peremptory order of control.

In a short time he rose, bathed his head and face in cold water, and began to dress for dinner.

And as he stood before the glass he smiled at the restored color and calm of his countenance.
"You are a prudent lawyer," he said sarcastically.

"How many actionable words have you just uttered! If the devil and Fred Mostyn have been listening, they can, as mother says, 'get the law on you'; but I think Ethel and I and the law will be a match even for the devil and Fred Mostyn." Then, as he slowly went downstairs, he repeated to himself, "Mostyn seems to be the natural owner of Rawdon.