She was quite content with her hat, and though her habit was not exactly a hunting habit, it fitted her well.

Morton had never before seen her in a riding dress and acknowledged that it became her.

He struggled to think of something special to say to her, but there was nothing.
He was not at home on such an occasion.

His long trowsers weighed him down, and his ordinary morning coat cowed him.

He knew in his heart that she thought nothing of him as he was now.