Miss Grey acknowledged his bow, but I could see that she was puzzled and surprised.
"I am to tell your mamma, I hope, that you are both quite well?" he said, addressing himself to me, and taking my hand: "and in good spirits, I suppose, Miss Grey?" he said, apparently recollecting that she was to be recognized; "I may say that?"
He turned to her, still holding my hand.
"Yes, they are quite well, and, I believe, happy," she said, still looking at him, I could see, with curiosity.
It was a remarkable countenance, with large earnest eyes, and a mouth small and melancholy, with those brilliant red lips that people associate with early decay. It was a pale face of suffering and decision, which so vaguely indicated his years that he might be any age you please, from six-and-twenty up to six-and-thirty, as you allowed more or less in the account for the afflictions of a mental and bodily discipline.
He stood there for a little while chatting with us. There was something engaging in this man, cold, severe, and melancholy as his manner was. I was conscious that he was agreeable, and, young as I was, I felt that he was a man of unusual learning and ability.
In a little time he left us. It was now twilight, and we saw him, with his slight stoop, pass our window with slow step and downcast eyes.
