"And was it," I asked myself, "was it essential to exchange buffets with a 'Camberwell Chicken,' to shoot and be shot at, to spur sweating and unwilling horses over dangerous fences—were such things truly necessary to prove one's manhood? Assuredly not! And yet—'Ladylike!'"
Moved by a sudden impulse I turned from the lattice to the elegant luxuriousness of my bedchamber, its soft carpets, rich hangings and exquisite harmonies of colour; and coming before the cheval mirror I stood to view and examine myself as I had never done hitherto, surveying my reflection not with the accustomed eyes of Peregrine Vereker, but rather with the coldly appraising eyes of a stranger, and beheld this:
A youthful, slender person of no great stature, clothed in garments elegantly unostentatious.
His face grave and of a saturnine cast—but the features fairly regular.
His complexion sallow—but clear and without blemish.
His hair rather too long—but dark and crisp-curled.
His brow a little too prominent—but high and broad.
His eyes dark and soft—but well-opened and direct.
His nose a little too short to please me—but otherwise well-shaped.
His mouth too tender in its curves—but the lips close and firm.