I’ve never met any one like you. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. She reached a tiny yellow-fronted cottage covered with flowering creepers, and entered the front room by the wide-open window. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. Sweatshirts and sweatpants were in for a while but they’re out now. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding.
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