The old, worn, faded, carefully polished furniture, for the most part of the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century, seemed abashed in the presence of his floridness.

It seemed to demand the setting of spacious, ornately glittering hotels.

Mrs.
Dangerfield liked him less in her own drawing-room than anywhere.

When her eyes rested on him in it, she was troubled by a curious feeling that only by some marvelous intervention of providence had he escaped calling in a bright plaid satin tie.
The fact that he was not in his proper frame, though he was not unconscious of it, did not trouble Captain Baster.

Indeed, he took some credit to himself for being so little contemptuous of the shabby furniture.