Part 1, Chapter XIX.
Julia’s Horror.
Two young men leaning over the park railings on a bright spring morning, when the soot-blackened, well-worn grass that had been suffering from a winter’s chronic cold was beginning to put forth its tender green shoots and dress itself for the season.
The rather muddy drive was on one side, the Serpentine on the other, and indications that London was coming to town could be seen in the increasing string of carriages.
One of the young men was undoubtedly dressed by Poole—well dressed; and he looked worthy of his tailor’s care. Frank, manly, handsome, there was a pleasant look in his grey eyes; and if his fair moustache had not been quite so heavy, a well-cut firm mouth would have been better seen. Perhaps that very glossy hat was worn a trifle too much on one side, and with the well set up appearance it suggested military, but the gold horse-shoe pin with diamond nails directly after hinted equine: the result being a compromise, and the looker-on concluded cavalry.
The other was of a heavier build, and was decidedly not dressed by a good tailor. He was not shabby, but careless; and while his companion was carefully gloved, he carried his hand-shoes in his hands, and certainly his hat had not been touched by a brush that morning.
He was a good-looking, manly fellow, with very short hair and a very long beard, thick enough to hide three parts of his chest.
The judge of human nature who had tried to read him at a glance, would, if right, have said, “Good fellow, somewhat of a cynic, don’t care a sou for appearances.”