He never forgot his stoutness, and always carried it with dignity.

He merely jerked his thumb towards the door by which he had entered.
Devar must have known Turner better than I did.

Perhaps he knew the sterner side of a character of which I had only experienced the kindness and friendship, for he stood with a white face, and never looked at Giraud or myself.

Then he shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly towards the door, his face wearing the sickly smile of the vanquished.
"Is that what you invited me for ?" asked my old friend, when the door had closed behind Devar.
"Partly." "But I suppose we are to have some luncheon ?" "Yes; there is some luncheon." "Then let us go to it," said Turner, with his watch in his hand.

But before we had reached the door, Alphonse had placed himself in Turner's way, looking as tall as he could.
"Mr.Devar is my friend," he cried, with a dramatic gesture and a fierce snatch at that side of his mustache which invariably failed him at crucial moments.
"Then, my dear Giraud," said Turner, laying his fatherly hand on the Frenchman's shoulder, "say nothing about it.