Work was what the nation wanted--not talk.
Agriculture and the Simple Life ?--Hardly! Five years of life in London, four of them under war conditions, had spoilt any taste for the country he had ever possessed.

He meant to do his duty by his estate, and by the miscellaneous crowd of people, returned soldiers and others, who seemed to wish to settle upon it.

But to take the plunge seriously, to go in heart and soul for intensive culture or scientific dairy-farming, to spend lonely winters in the country with his bailiffs and tenants for company--it was no good talking about it--he knew it could not be done.
And--finally--what was the good of making plans at all ?--with these new responsibilities which friendship and pity and weakness of will had lately led him to take upon himself ?--For two years at least he would not be able to plan his life in complete freedom.
His thoughts went dismally off in the new direction.

As he turned away from the window, a long Venetian mirror close by reflected the image of a tall man in naval uniform, with a head and face that were striking rather than handsome--black curly hair just dusted with grey, a slight chronic frown, remarkable blue eyes and a short silky beard.

His legs were slender in proportion to the breadth of his shoulders, and inadequate in relation to the dignity of the head.