Lister did not know yet if Hyslop was a prig or not.
Cartwright was frankly puzzling.

He looked like a sober country gentleman, and this was not the type Lister had thought to meet.

His clothes were fastidiously good, his voice had a level, restrained note, but his eye was like a hawk's, as Vernon had said.

Now and then one saw a twinkle of ironical amusement and some of his movements were quick and vigorous.

Lister thought Cartwright's blood was red.
Vernon, lounging at the opposite end of the bench, talked about a day Hyslop and he had spent upon the rocks, and rather struck a foreign note.