He wears slippers and an old coat, and has the air of a clergyman who has made up his mind to be disappointed.

But he is not a clergyman, although his white cravat, somewhat negligently tied, and his rusty black dress-coat, favor that theory.

There is a little weariness in his expression, and an involuntary, half-deferential smile, as if he fully assented to every thing that might be presented--not because he is especially interested in it or believes it, but because it is the shortest way of avoiding discussion and getting back to his own thoughts.
"Gabriel, my son, I am glad to see you!" his father says, as he seats himself, not opposite his wife, but at one side of the table.

He inquires if Mr.Newt has returned, and learns that he has been at home for several days.

He hopes that he has enjoyed his little journey; then sips his tea, and looks to see if the windows are closed; shakes himself gently, and says he feels chilly; that the September evenings are already autumnal, and that the time is coming when we must begin to read aloud again after tea.