I had not seen him in evening dress before, and I could not help thinking how much more thoroughly he looked the polished man of the world than the other men.

Kildare never appeared to greater advantage than in the uniform and trappings of his profession.

In a black coat and a white tie he looked like any other handsome young Englishman, utterly without individuality.
But Isaacs, with his pale complexion and delicate high-bred features, bore himself like a noble of the old school.

Westonhaugh beside him looked washed-out and deathly, Kildare was too coarsely healthy, and Ghyrkins and I, representing different types of extreme plainness, served as foils to all three.
I watched Miss Westonhaugh while Isaacs was speaking.

She had evidently heard the whole story, for her expression showed beforehand the emotion she expected to feel at each point.