She held them towards Wentworth, and he looked at them with grave attention.
The cob, a privileged person, of urbane and distinguished manners, suddenly elongated towards them a mobile upper lip, his sleek head slightly on one side, his kind, sly eyes half shut.
"Conrad," said Wentworth, "we never ask.

We only take what is given us." Fay laughed, and gave them both a twig.
Wentworth drew his through his buttonhole.

Conrad twisted his in his strong yellow teeth, turned it over, and then spat it out.

The action, though of doubtful taste in itself, was ennobled by his perfect rendering of it.

He brought it, so to speak, forever within the sphere of exquisite manners.
Wentworth led him back to the path, tied him to a tree, and then came back and sat down at a little distance from Fay on the same trunk.