The result, in any case, was striking." We asked him to give us the history of the case, and he did so.
"He was a friend of some cousins of mine," Jephson began, "people I used to see a good deal of in my undergraduate days.

When I met him first he was a young fellow of twenty-six, strong mentally and physically, and of a stern and stubborn nature that those who liked him called masterful, and that those who disliked him--a more numerous body--termed tyrannical.
When I saw him three years later, he was an old man of twenty-nine, gentle and yielding beyond the border-line of weakness, mistrustful of himself and considerate of others to a degree that was often unwise.
Formerly, his anger had been a thing very easily and frequently aroused.
Since the change of which I speak, I have never known the shade of anger to cross his face but once.

In the course of a walk, one day, we came upon a young rough terrifying a small child by pretending to set a dog at her.

He seized the boy with a grip that almost choked him, and administered to him a punishment that seemed to me altogether out of proportion to the crime, brutal though it was.
"I remonstrated with him when he rejoined me.
"'Yes,' he replied apologetically; 'I suppose I'm a hard judge of some follies.' And, knowing what his haunted eyes were looking at, I said no more.
"He was junior partner in a large firm of tea brokers in the City.

There was not much for him to do in the London office, and when, therefore, as the result of some mortgage transactions, a South Indian tea plantation fell into the hands of the firm, it was suggested that he should go out and take the management of it.