Clap a pepperpot helmet on Jaffery, give him a skin-tight suit of chain mail, moulding all his swelling muscles, consider his red sweeping moustache, his red beard, his intense blue eyes staring out of a red face; dress Liosha in flaming maize and purple, leaving a breast free, and twist a gold torque through her hair, dark like the bronze-black shadows under autumn bracken; strip naked-fair the five nesting bits of humanity--it was an unpresented scene from Lohengrin or the Goetterdaemmerung.
I can only speak according to the impression produced by their entrance on an idle, dilettante mind.

My cousin Eileen, a smiling lady of plump unimportance, to whom I afterwards told my fancy, could not understand it.

Speaking entirely of physical attributes, she saw nothing more in Jaffery than an uncouth red bear, and considered Liosha far too big for a drawing-room.
When the children departed after an orgy of osculation, Jaffery surveyed with a twinkling eye the decorous quartette sitting by the fire.

Then in his familiar fashion, he took his companion by the arm.
"They're too grown up for us, Liosha.

Let's leave 'em.