His complexion was of the kind which used to be called adust--burnt up with inner fires; his visage was long and somewhat harshly designed, very apt, it would seem, to the expression of hitter ironies or stern resentments, but at present bright with friendly pleasure.

He had a heavy moustache, but no beard; his hair tumbled in disorder.

To matters of costume he evidently gave little thought, for his clothes, though of the kind a gentleman would wear in travelling, had seen their best days, and the waistcoat even lacked one of its buttons; his black necktie was knotted into an indescribable shape, and the ends hung loose.
Him Mrs.Spence at once presented to her cousin as "Mr.Mallard." He bowed ungracefully; then, with a manner naturally frank but constrained by obvious shyness, took the hand Miriam held to him.
"We are scarcely strangers, Mr.Mallard," she said in a self-possessed tone, regarding him with steady eyes.
"Miss Doran has spoken of you frequently on the journey," he replied, knitting his brows into a scowl as he smiled and returned her look.
"Your illness made her very anxious.

You are much better, I hope ?" "Much, thank you." Allowance made for the difference of quality in their voices, Mrs.
Baske and Mallard resembled each other in speech.

They had the same grave note, the same decision.
"They must be very tired after their journey," Miriam added, seating herself.
"Miss Doran seems scarcely so at all; but Mrs.Lessingham is rather over-wearied, I'm afraid." "Why didn't you break the journey at Florence or Rome ?" asked Mrs.
Spence.
"I proposed it, but other counsels prevailed.