The creature's soul, she decided, was certainly not in his body, and until it came back he would continue to ignore her.

With the annoyance of a woman who is not getting her own way, she leaned back in Braddock's one comfortable chair--which she had unerringly selected--and examined him intently.
Perhaps the gossips were correct, and she was trying to imagine what kind of a husband he would make.

But whatever might be her thoughts, she eyed Braddock as earnestly as Braddock eyed the scarabeus.
Outwardly the Professor did not appear like the savant he was reported to be.

He was small of stature, plump of body, rosy as a little Cupid, and extraordinarily youthful, considering his fifty-odd years of scientific wear and tear.

With a smooth, clean-shaven face, plentiful white hair like spun silk, and neat feet and hands, he did not look his age.