He was the vicar, the person who had been letting himself go on the organ; a slight man with a handsome, pale, ascetic face, clean-shaven, very dark-eyed, looking more like an Italian monk or priest than an English clergyman.
But although rigidly ecclesiastic in his appearance and dress, there was something curiously engaging in him, along with a subtle look which it was not easy to fathom.

There was a light in his dark eyes which reminded me of a flame seen through a smoked glass or a thin black veil, and a slight restless movement about the corners of his mouth as if a smile was just on the point of breaking out.

But it never quite came; he kept his gravity even when he said things which would have gone very well with a smile.
"I see," he spoke, and his penetrating musical voice had, too, like his eyes and mouth, an expression of mystery in it, "that you are admiring our beautiful west window, especially the figure in the centre.

It is quite new--everything is new here--the church itself was only built a few years ago.

This window is its chief glory: it was done by a good artist--he has done some of the most admired windows of recent years; and the centre figure is supposed to be a portrait of our generous patroness.