irty　and　forty；　his　plexion　was　singularly　sallow：　otherwise　he　was　a　fine…looking　man；　at　first　sight　especially。　On　closer　examination；　you　detected　something　in　his　face　that　displeased；　or　rather　that　failed　to　please。　His　features　were　regular；　but　too　relaxed：　his　eye　was　large　and　well　cut；　but　the　life　looking　out　of　it　was　a　tame；　vacant　life—at　least　so　I　thought。

The　sound　of　the　dressing…bell　dispersed　the　party。　It　was　not　till　after　dinner　that　I　saw　him　again：　he　then　seemed　quite　at　his　ease。　But　I　liked　his　physiognomy　even　less　than　before：　it　struck　me　as　being　at　the　same　time　unsettled　and　inanimate。　His　eye　wandered；　and　had　no　meaning　in　its　wandering：　this　gave　him　an　odd　look；　such　as　I　never　remembered　to　have　seen。　For　a　handsome　and　not　an　unamiable…looking　man；　he　repelled　me　exceedingly：　there　was　no　power　in　that　smooth…skinned　face　of　a　full　oval　shape：　no　firmness　in　that　aquiline　nose　and　small　cherry　mouth；　there　was　no　thought　on　the　low；　even　forehead；　no　mand　in　that　blank；　brown　eye。

As　I　sat　in　my　usual　nook；　and　looked　at　him　with　the　light　of　the　girandoles　on　the　mantelpiece　beaming　full　over　him—for　he　occupied　an　arm…chair　drawn　close　to　the　fire；　and　kept　shrinking　still　nearer；　as　if　he　were　cold；　I　pared　him　with　Mr。　Rochester。　I　think　（with　deference　be　it　spoken）　the　contrast　could　not　be　much　greater　between　a　sleek　gander　and　a　fierce　falcon：　between　a　meek　sheep　and　the　rough…coated　keen…eyed　dog；　its　guardian。

He　had　spoken　of　Mr。　Rochester　as　an　old　friend。　A　curious　friendship　theirs　must　have　been：　a　pointed　illustration；　indeed；　of　the　old　adage　that　“extremes　meet。”

Two　or　three　of　the　gentlemen　sat　near　him；　and　I　caught　at　times　scraps　of　their　conversation　across　the　room。　At　first