So many things about her seemed to displease him, and when he was displeased he always reminded her that she was stupidly, objectionably guilty of not being an English woman.
Whatsoever it happened to be, the fault she had committed out of her depth of ignorance, he did not forget it.

It was no habit of his to endeavour to dismiss offences.

He preferred to hold them in possession as if they were treasures and to turn them over and over, in the mental seclusion which nourishes the growth of injuries, since within its barriers there is no chance of their being palliated by the apologies or explanations of the offender.
During their journey to Stornham Court the next day he was in one of his black moods.

Once in the railway carriage he paid small attention to his wife, but sat rigidly reading his Times, until about midway to their destination he descended at a station and paid a visit to the buffet in the small refreshment room, after which he settled himself to doze in an exceedingly unbecoming attitude, his travelling cap pulled down, his rather heavy face congested with the dark flush Rosalie had not yet learned was due to the fact that he had hastily tossed off two or three whiskies and sodas.

Though he was never either thick of utterance or unsteady on his feet, whisky and soda formed an important factor in his existence.