He did not wish to affront her, but neither would he wear shoes and stockings with no one to make him.

His bare feet rejoiced at the cool touch of the grass as he waited in the front yard for his father.
He would have liked to change his Sunday clothes for the old ones of a better feel, but this even he felt would be going too far.

You had to draw the line somewhere.
His father came out, lighting his calabash pipe.

He wore a tweed cap now in place of the formal derby, but he was otherwise attired as on the previous evening, in the blue coal and vivid waistcoat, the inferior trousers, and the undesirable shoes.

As they went down the street under shading elms the dog, Frank, capered at the end of his taut leash.
They went up Fair Street to reach the wooded hills beyond the town.