preternaturally dignified, too confounded sober, solemn and sedate for
this mundane sphere; he needs more--

UNCLE GEORGE. Brimstone and the devil!

MY AUNT (freezingly). George Vereker!

UNCLE JERVAS. Wholesome ungentleness.

UNCLE GEORGE (hazarding the suggestion). An occasional black
eye--bloody nose, d'ye see, Julia, healthy bruise or so--

MY AUNT. Mr. Vereker!

UNCLE GEORGE (groping for whisker). What I mean to say is, Julia,
a--ha--hum! (Subsides.)

UNCLE JERVAS. George is exactly right, Julia. Our nephew is well
enough in many ways, I'll admit, but corporeally he is no Vereker; he
fills the eye but meanly--

MY AUNT (in tones of icy gloom). Sir Jervas--explain!

UNCLE JERVAS. Well, my dear Julia, scan him, I beg; regard him with an
observant eye, the eye not of a doting woman but a dispassionate
critic--examine him!

(Here I sank lower in my great chair.)

MY AUNT. If Peregrine is not so--large as your robust self or so burly