It is the fine tooling or graving on the soul capable of bearing it, of that supreme grace we call character; that grace that makes all the difference between one human being and another that there is between a block of granite and a reach of shifting sand.

Every person we meet, has more or less of this quality, and not to be influenced by it is to belong to those hard blocks of humanity whom Carlyle calls formulas and phantoms.
Well, this little incident of Harry's unexpected extravagance was a line of character-tooling on John's soul.

He felt the first keen touches, was suddenly angry, then passive, and as he rode down the hill, satisfied.
Some way or other he felt sure the expense would not interfere with the things so vitally important to him.

As he rode through the village he noticed that the Spinners' Hall was lit up and that there was a mixed sound of song and laughter and loud talking within and as Jane was at Thirsk he alighted at the door of the hall and went in.
On the platform there was one of his own spinners, a lad of seventeen years old.

The audience were mostly young men and women, and they were dressed for dancing.