Here, in a deep cane chair, which was placed by the open window, sat John Yule.

He was completely dressed, save that instead of coat he wore a dressing-gown.

The facial likeness between him and his brother was very strong, but John's would universally have been judged the finer countenance; illness notwithstanding, he had a complexion which contrasted in its pure colour with Alfred's parchmenty skin, and there was more finish about his features.

His abundant hair was reddish, his long moustache and trimmed beard a lighter shade of the same hue.
'So you too are in league with the doctors,' was his bluff greeting, as he held a hand to the young man and inspected him with a look of slighting good-nature.
'Well, that certainly is one way of regarding the literary profession,' admitted Jasper, who had heard enough of John's way of thinking to understand the remark.
'A young fellow with all the world before him, too.

Hang it, Mr Milvain, is there no less pernicious work you can turn your hand to ?' 'I'm afraid not, Mr Yule.