"Glad to see you, old chap.
I rather like your beard," he said with genial brusqueness; and nothing, perhaps, could better have summed up his faculty for forming independent judgments which Shelton found so admirable.

He made no apology for the smallness of the dinner, which, consisting of eight courses and three wines, served by a butler and one footman, smacked of the same perfection as the furniture; in fact, he never apologised for anything, except with a jovial brusqueness that was worse than the offence.

The suave and reasonable weight of his dislikes and his approvals stirred Shelton up to feel ironical and insignificant; but whether from a sense of the solid, humane, and healthy quality of his friend's egoism, or merely from the fact that this friendship had been long in bottle, he did not resent his mixed sensations.
"By the way, I congratulate you, old chap," said Halidome, while driving to the theatre; there was no vulgar hurry about his congratulations, no more than about himself.

"They're awfully nice people, the Dennants." A sense of having had a seal put on his choice came over Shelton.
"Where are you going to live?
You ought to come down and live near us; there are some ripping houses to be had down there; it's really a ripping neighbourhood.

Have you chucked the Bar?
You ought to do something, you know; it'll be fatal for you to have nothing to do.