He was in fact a typical, healthy-looking Britisher, very much like any other man of his class whom one would meet in the mess-room of the British army, in the wardrooms of the fleet, or in the far-off posts of the Empire, where the administrative cogs of the great machine are to be seen at work.
There was a little tap at the door, and before he could say "Come in" it was pushed open and Grace Lexman entered.
If you described her as brave and sweet you might secure from that brief description both her manner and her charm.

He half crossed the room to meet her, and kissed her tenderly.
"I didn't know you were back until--" she said; linking her arm in his.
"Until you saw the horrible mess my mackintosh has made," he smiled.

"I know your methods, Watson!" She laughed, but became serious again.
"I am very glad you've come back.

We have a visitor," she said.
He raised his eyebrows.
"A visitor?
Whoever came down on a day like this ?" She looked at him a little strangely.
"Mr.Kara," she said.
"Kara?
How long has he been here ?" "He came at four." There was nothing enthusiastic in her tone.
"I can't understand why you don't like old Kara," rallied her husband.
"There are very many reasons," she replied, a little curtly for her.
"Anyway," said John Lexman, after a moment's thought, "his arrival is rather opportune.

Where is he ?" "He is in the drawing-room." The Priory drawing-room was a low-ceilinged, rambling apartment, "all old print and chrysanthemums," to use Lexman's description.