The man's clothes were shabby and old-fashioned, but they were a gentleman's garments, the cloth of a finer texture than she had ever seen worn by her brother.

The coat, with its velvet collar, was of an old-world fashion.

She remembered having seen just such a coat in an engraved portrait of Count d'Orsay, a print nearly fifty years old.

No Dalesman born and bred ever wore such a coat; no tailor in the Dales could have made it.
The old man looked up after a long pause, during which Mary felt afraid to move.

He looked at her again with inquiring eyes, as if her presence there had only just become known to him.
'Who are you ?' he asked again.
'I told you my name just now.