about Viola.

It was all very well for Viola to nurse Jevons through his jaundice, she
might have done that out of pure humanity; but she had no business to be
going for walks with the little bounder. Even the charm of his
conversation and his personality (and it _had_ a charm) couldn't
conceal the fact that he was a little bounder. Why, in moments of
excitement he had gestures that must have made her shudder all down her
spine, and more than once I have known his aitches become fugitive,
though, on the whole, I must say he was pretty careful. And Viola was
letting herself in for him. In sheer innocence and recklessness she was
letting herself in. I felt that if ever it should come to getting her out
I would be glad of an ally. Now that I saw what Viola was capable of, I
began to feel some sympathy with her people at Canterbury who had tried
so ineffectually to hold her in.

There was nothing ineffectual about Reggie Thesiger. I suppose he would
have been impressive anyway from the sheer height and breadth of him, his
visible and palpable perfection; but what "had" me was not his
perfection, but the odd likeness to his sister which he combined, and in
some mysterious way reconciled, with it. His face had taken over not only
the dominant and defiant look of hers, exaggerated by his sheer virility;
but it had the very tricks of her charm, even to the uptilted lines of
her mouth; his little black moustache followed and gave accent to them. I
said to myself: "Here is a young man who will not stand any nonsense."

He greeted me with a joy that I could not account for all at once in an
entire stranger, and it was mixed with a childlike and candid surprise. I
wondered what I had done that he should be so glad to see me.