It is hopeless to ask for any information about General George, and would be, though Miss Flite had not already run upstairs to put on her pinched bonnet and her poor little shawl and to arm herself with her reticule of documents. But as she informs her physician in her disjointed manner on coming down in full array that General George, whom she often calls upon, knows her dear Fitz Jarndyce and takes a great interest in all connected with her, Allan is induced to think that they may be in the right way. So he tells Jo, for his encouragement, that this walking about will soon be over now; and they repair to the general's. Fortunately it is not far.
From the exterior of George's Shooting Gallery, and the long entry, and the bare perspective beyond it, Allan Woodcourt augurs well. He also descries promise in the figure of Mr. George himself, striding towards them in his morning exercise with his pipe in his mouth, no stock on, and his muscular arms, developed by broadsword and dumbbell, weightily asserting themselves through his light shirt-sleeves.
"Your servant, sir," says Mr. George with a military salute. Good-humouredly smiling all over his broad forehead up into his crisp hair, he then defers to Miss Flite, as, with great stateliness, and at some length, she performs the courtly ceremony of presentation. He winds it up with another "Your servant, sir!" and another salute.

It is hopeless to ask for any information about General George, as Miss Flite has already run upstairs to put on her pinched bonnet and her poor little shawl and to arm herself with her reticule of documents. But as she informs her physician that General George knows her dear Fitz Jarndyce and takes a great interest in her, Allan thinks that they may be in the right way. So he tells Jo that this walking about will soon be over. Fortunately the general's shooting gallery is not far.
From its exterior, Allan Woodcourt augurs well. He also sees promise in the figure of Mr. George himself, striding towards them with his pipe in his mouth, and his muscular arms weightily asserting themselves through his light shirt-sleeves.
"Your servant, sir," says Mr. George with a military salute. Good-humouredly smiling, he then defers to Miss Flite, as, with great stateliness, she performs the ceremony of introduction.
"Your servant, sir! 