He plainly cared much more for appearances than did Harold.  He was not so tall, much slighter, with darker hair, rather too shiny, and a neatly turned up moustache, a gorgeous tie and watch chain, a brilliant breast pin, a more brilliant ring, and a general air that made me conclude that he regarded himself as a Sydney beau.  But Harold, in his loose, rough grey suit, was very different.  His height was extraordinary, his breadth of chest and shoulder equally gigantic, though well proportioned, and with a look of easy strength, and, as Viola had said, his head was very much what one knows as the Lion Heart’s, not Marochetti’s trim carpet knight, but Vertue’s rugged portrait from the monument at Fontevrand.  There was the same massive breadth of feature, large yet not heavy, being relieved by the exceeding keenness and quickness of the light but very blue eyes, which ssemed to see everywhere round in a moment, as men do in wild countries.  The short thick yellow curly beard and moustache veiled the lower part of the face; but the general expression, when still, was decidedly a sad one, though a word or a trick of Dora’s would call up a smile all over the browned cheeks and bright eyes.  His form and colouring must have come from the Cumberland statesman, but people said his voice and expression had much of his father in them; and no one could think him ungentlemanly, though he was not like any English gentleman.  He wore no gaieties like Eustace, the handkerchief loosely knotted round his neck sailor fashion was plain black, and he had a gold ring on his little finger.

Dora had the same yellow curly hair, in tight, frizzly rings all over her head, like a boy’s, a light complexion, and blue eyes, in a round, pug-nosed face; and she hung so entirely on Harold that I never doubted that she was his sister till, as we were sitting down to eat, I said, “Can’t you come a little way from your brother?”

Eustace gave his odd little giggle, and said, “There, Dora!”

“I’m not his sister—­I’m his wife!”

“There!” and Eustace giggled again and ordered her away; but I saw Harold’s brow knit with pain, and as she began to reiterate her assertion and resist Eustace, he gently sat her down on the chair near at hand, and silently made her understand that she was to stay there; but Eustace rather teasingly said: 

“Aunt Lucy will teach you manners, Dora.  She is my sister, and we have brought her home to send her to school.”

“I won’t go to school,” said Dora; “Harold would not.”

“You won’t get away like him,” returned Eustace, in the same tone.

“Yes, I shall.  I’ll lick all the girls,” she returned, clenching a pair of red mottled fists that looked very capable.

“For shame, Dora!” said the low voice.

“Harold did,” said she, looking up at me triumphantly; “he beat all the boys, and had to come back again to Boola Boola.”