She--the young lady of wax-like complexion, with her everlasting expression of dignity combined with amiability.

No girl of his acquaintance could compete with her.

If I remember rightly he died a bachelor, still dreaming of wax-like perfection.

Perhaps it is as well we men are not handicapped to the same extent.

If every hoarding, if every picture shop window, if every illustrated journal teemed with illustrations of the ideal young man in perfect fitting trousers that never bagged at the knees! Maybe it would result in our cooking our own breakfasts and making our own beds to the end of our lives.
The novelist and playwright, as it is, have made things difficult enough for us.