A painter?
There was something in the shape of his hands (he was descended on his mother's side from a family of the greatest antiquity and deepest obscurity) which indicated taste.

Then his mouth--but surely, of all futile occupations this of cataloguing features is the worst.

One word is sufficient.

But if one cannot find it?
"I like Jacob Flanders," wrote Clara Durrant in her diary.

"He is so unworldly.