He never was late for business, or huddled over his toilet, however brief had been his sleep, or severe his headache.

In a word, he was as scrupulously whited as any sepulchre in the whole bills of mortality.
Whilst young Barnes and his uncle were thus holding parley, a slim gentleman of bland aspect, with a roomy forehead, or what his female admirers called "a noble brow," and a neat white neckcloth tied with clerical skill, was surveying Colonel Newcome through his shining spectacles, and waiting for an opportunity to address him.

The Colonel remarked the eagerness with which the gentleman in black regarded him, and asked Mr.Barnes who was the padre?
Mr.Barnes turned his eyeglass towards the spectacles, and said "he didn't know any more than the dead; he didn't know two people in the room." The spectacles nevertheless made the eyeglass a bow, of which the latter took no sort of cognisance.

The spectacles advanced; Mr.Newcome fell back with a peevish exclamation of "Confound the fellow, what is he coming to speak to me for ?" He did not choose to be addressed by all sorts of persons in all houses.
But he of the spectacles, with an expression of delight in his pale blue eyes, and smiles dimpling his countenance, pressed onwards with outstretched hands, and it was towards the Colonel he turned these smiles and friendly salutations.

"Did I hear aright, sir, from Mrs.
Miles," he said, "and have I the honour of speaking to Colonel Newcome ?" "The same, sir," says the Colonel; at which the other, tearing off a glove of lavender-coloured kid, uttered the words, "Charles Honeyman," and seized the hand of his brother-in-law.