Robert Trenholme had a lively wit, and it stood him many times in lieu of chapel walls for within it he could retire at all times and be hidden.

Of all that he experienced within his heart at this time not any part was visible to the brother who was his idle visitor; or perhaps only the least part, and that not until the moot point between them was touched upon.
There came a day, two days after the old preacher had been buried, when the elder brother called out: "Come, my lad, I want to speak to you." Robert was lying on a long couch improvised for him in the corner of his study.

The time was that warm hour of the afternoon when the birds are quiet and even the flies buzz drowsily.

Bees in the piebald petunias that grew straggling and sweet above the sill of the open window, dozed long in each sticky chalice.

Alec was taking off his boots in the lobby, and in reply to the condescending invitation he muttered some graceless words concerning his grandmother, but he came into the room and sat with his elbows on the table.