of his house at Bosekop, finishing a late tea, and disposing of
round after round of hot buttered toast with that suave alacrity he
always displayed in the consumption of succulent eatables. He was a
largely made man, very much on the wrong side of fifty, with
accumulations of unwholesome fat on every available portion of his
body. His round face was cleanly shaven and shiny, as though its
flabby surface were frequently polished with some sort of luminous
grease instead of the customary soap. His mouth was absurdly small
and pursy for so broad a countenance,--his nose seemed endeavoring
to retreat behind his puffy cheeks as though painfully aware of its
own insignificance,--and he had little, sharp, ferret-like eyes of a
dull mahogany brown, which were utterly destitute of even the
faintest attempt at any actual expression. They were more like glass
beads than eyes, and glittered under their scanty fringe of pale-
colored lashes with a sort of shallow cunning which might mean
malice or good-humor,--no one looking at them could precisely
determine which. His hair was of an indefinite shade, neither light
nor dark, somewhat of the tinge of a dusty potato before it is
washed clean. It was neatly brushed and parted in the middle with
mathematical precision, while from the back of his head it was
brought forward in two projections, one on each side, like budding
wings behind his ears. It was impossible for the most fastidious
critic to find fault with the Reverend Mr. Dyceworthy's hands. He
had beautiful hands, white, soft, plump and well-shaped,--his
delicate filbert nails were trimmed with punctilious care, and shone
with a pink lustre that was positively charming. He was evidently an
amiable man, for he smiled to himself over his tea,--he had a trick
of smiling,--ill-natured people said he did it on purpose, in order
to widen his mouth and make it more in pro-portion to the size of
his face. Such remarks, however, emanated only from the spiteful and