If I were worth ten thousand a year, I cannot help inwardly reflecting, and kept a large account in Threadneedle Street, I cannot help thinking he would have favoured me with the whole palm.
The arrival of these two grandees has somehow cast a solemnity over the company.

The weather is talked about: brilliant in itself, it does not occasion very brilliant remarks among Colonel Newcome's guests.

Sir Brian really thinks it must be as hot as it is in India.

Sir Thomas de Boots, swelling in his white waistcoat, in the armholes of which his thumbs are engaged, smiles scornfully, and wishes Sir Brian had ever felt a good sweltering day in the hot winds in India.

Sir Brian withdraws the untenable proposition that London is as hot as Calcutta.
Mr.Binnie looks at his watch, and at the Colonel.