He was pale--for _him,_ strikingly pale--when Arnold came back.
"Any thing wrong, Geoffrey ?--you're as white as ashes." "It's the heat.

Where's Sir Patrick ?" "You may see for yourself." Arnold pointed to the window.

Sir Patrick was crossing the lawn, on his way to the library with a newspaper in his hand; and the guests at Windygates were accompanying him.

Sir Patrick was smiling, and saying nothing.

The guests were talking excitedly at the tops of their voices.
There had apparently been a collision of some kind between the old school and the new.