He had no business at St.Armand, but fate and the ill-adjusted time-table decreed that he should wait there.
This little red-haired gentleman--for gentleman, in comparison with the St.Armand folk he certainly was--was a thorough worldling in the sense of knowing the world somewhat widely, and corresponding to its ways, although not to its evil deeds.

Indeed, he was a very good sort of man, but such a worldling, with his thick gold chain, and jaunty clothes, and quick way of adjusting himself to passing circumstances, that it was some time before his good-natured sociableness won in the least upon the station loungers.

They held aloof, as from an explosive, not knowing when it would begin to emit sparks.

He was short in stature, much shorter than the hulking fellows who stood and surveyed him through the smoke of their pipes, but he had such a cocky little way with him that he overawed them much more than a big man would have done.

Out of sheer dulness he took to talking to Zilda.
Zilda stood with her back against the wall.
'Fine day,' said Gilby, stopping beside her.
'Oui, monsieur.' Gilby had taken his cigar from his mouth, and held it between two fingers of his right hand.