Sir Henry's inner mind decided against him--at once--instinctively.

What was a stout fellow, who at any rate _looked_ as though he were still of military age, doing with nonsense of this sort, at four o'clock in the day, when England wanted every able-bodied man she possessed, either to fight for her or to work for her?
At the same time the reflection passed rapidly through his mind that neither the man nor the name had come up--so far as he could remember--before the County Tribunal of which he was Chairman.
'Well, Chicksands, what do you want with me ?' said the Squire abruptly.

'Will you take a chair ?' And he pointed to one from which he hastily removed a coat.
'I have some confidential business to talk to you about,' said Sir Henry, with a look at the dusty gentleman among the straw.
'Something you want me to do that I'll be bound I shan't want to do! Is that it ?' said Mannering with vivacity.
He stood with his hands on a table behind him, his long spare frame in a nervous fidget, his eyes bright and hostile, and a spot of red on either thin cheek.

Beside Chicksands, who was of middle height, solidly built, and moderately stout, with mental and physical competence written all over him, the Squire of Mannering seemed but the snippet of a man.

He was singularly thin, with a slender neck, and a small head covered with thick hair, prematurely white, which tumbled over his forehead and eyes.