'Ah, there's the book!' And diving to the floor for a hat and a book lying beside it, he made off, lighting a cigarette, with a laughing backward glance towards the Squire and his companion.
'Well, now, what is it ?' said Mannering, throwing himself with an air of resignation into a low arm-chair, and taking out a pipe.
'Won't you smoke, Chicksands ?' 'Thank you, I've had my morning's allowance.

Hullo! Who did that?
What an awfully fine thing!' For suddenly, behind the Squire's head, Chicksands had become aware of an easel, and on it a charcoal sketch, life-size, of a boy, who seemed about eighteen or nineteen, in cricketing dress.
The Squire looked round.
'What, that sketch of Desmond?
Haven't you seen it?
Yes, it's jolly good.

I got Orpen to do it in July.' Now that Sir Henry had once perceived the drawing it seemed to him to light up the whole place.

The dress was the dress of the Eton Eleven; there was just a suggestion of pale blue in the sash round the waist.

But the whole impression was Greek in its manly freedom and beauty; above all in its sacrifice of all useless detail to one broad and simple effect.