And, it might be added, masters of their women-kind as well, in the good, old-fashioned way.

There was, too, more than a hint of obstinacy and temper in the long, rather projecting chin and dominant nose.
But the smile he bestowed on Nan when he answered her redeemed the ugliness of his face considerably.

It was the smile of a man who could be both kindly and generous where his prejudices were not involved, who might even be capable of something rather big if occasion warranted it.
"It was too bad of me to startle you like that," he acknowledged.
"Please forgive me.

I caught sight of you both through the trees and declared myself rather too suddenly." "Always a mistake," commented Nan, nodding wisely.
Roger Trenby regarded her doubtfully.

She was extraordinarily attractive, this slim young woman from London who was staying at Mallow, but she not infrequently gave utterances to remarks which, although apparently straight-forward enough, yet filled him with a vague, uneasy feeling that they held some undercurrent of significance which had eluded him.
He skirted the quicksand hastily, and turned the conversation to a subject where be felt himself on sure ground.
"I've been exercising hounds to-day." Trenby was Master of the Trevithick Foxhounds, and had the reputation of being one of the finest huntsmen in the county, and his heart and his pluck and a great deal of his money went to the preserving of it.
"Oh," cried Nan warmly, "why didn't you bring them round by Mallow before you went back to the kennels ?" "We didn't come coastward at all," he replied.