Chevenix was handsome, and surprisingly young to be a major: six feet in his stockings, well set up, with regular features and very clear grey eyes.

It was impossible to pick a fault in him, and yet the sum-total was displeasing.

Perhaps he was too clean; he seemed to bear about with him the smell of soap.

Cleanliness is good, but I cannot bear a man's nails to seem japanned.

And certainly he was too self-possessed and cold.