His face was pale, almost puffy, his grey eyes were slow and heavy, his
moustache was dark and small, his hair was thin over his forehead, and
he had a general appearance of being much older than his years, which I
knew to be thirty-three.
His manners, when I approached him, were courteous and gentle, almost
playful and indulgent, but through all their softness there pierced a
certain hardness, not to say brutality, which I afterwards learned (when
life had had its tug at me) to associate with a man who has spent much
of his time among women of loose character.
Betsy Beauty made a great matter of introducing us; but in a drawling
voice, and with a certain play of humour, he told her it was quite
unnecessary, since we were very old friends, having made each other's
acquaintance as far back as ten years ago, when I was the prettiest
little woman in the world, he remembered, though perhaps my manners were
not quite cordial.
"We had a slight difference on the subject of kisses. Don't you remember
it?"
Happily there was no necessity to reply, for my father came to say that
he wished to show his lordship the improvements he had been making, and
the rest of us were at liberty to follow them.
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