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.

His chin too smoothly rounded, at a glance--but when set, looks
determined enough.

His whole aspect not altogether unpleasing, though I yearned mightily
to see him a few inches taller.

Thus then I took dispassionate regard to, and here as dispassionately
set down, my outer being; as to my inner, that shall appear, I hope,
as this history progresses.

I was yet engaged on this most critical examination of my person when
I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the flagged terrace
beneath my open window and the voices of my two uncles as they passed
slowly to and fro, each word of their conversation very plain to hear
upon the warm, still air. Honour should have compelled me to close my
ears or the lattice; had I done so, how different might this history
have been, how utterly different my career. As it was, attracted by
the sound of my own name, I turned from contemplation of my person
and, coming to the window, leaned out again.

"Poor Peregrine," said my uncle George for the second time.

"Why the pity, George? Curse and confound it, wherefore the pity? Our