He was a tall, thin man: rather round-shouldered; weak at the knees,
and trying to conceal the weakness in the breadth of his trowsers. He
wore a white cravat, and an absurdly high shirt collar. His complexion
was sallow; his eyes were small, black, bright, and incessantly in
motion--indeed, all his features were singularly mobile: they were
affected by nervous contractions and spasms which were constantly
drawing up and down in all directions the brow, the mouth, and the
muscles of the cheek. His hair had been black, but was now turning to
a sort of iron-grey; it was very dry, wiry, and plentiful, and part of
it projected almost horizontally over his forehead. He had a habit of
stretching it in this direction, by irritably combing it out, from
time to time, with his fingers. His lips were thin and colourless, the
lines about them being numerous and strongly marked. Had I seen him
under ordinary circumstances, I should have set him down as a
little-minded man; a small tyrant in his own way over those dependent
on him; a pompous parasite to those above him--a great stickler for
the conventional respectabilities of life, and a great believer in his
own infallibility. But he was Margaret's father; and I was determined
to be pleased with him.

He made me a low and rather a cringing bow--then looked to the window,
and seeing the carriage waiting for me at his door, made another bow,
and insisted on relieving me of my hat with his own hand. This done,
he coughed, and begged to know what he could do for me.

I felt some difficulty in opening my business to him. It was necessary
to speak, however, at once--I began with an apology.

"I am afraid, Mr. Sherwin, that this intrusion on the part of a
perfect stranger--"