I recognised him from the moment when
he removed his hat and uncovered the lofty, furrowed, and somewhat
narrow brow beneath. I had met him, as I distinctly remembered, some
three years before, at the very house for which, in all probability,
he was now bound, like myself. His name was Dwerrihouse, he was
a lawyer by profession, and, if I was not greatly mistaken, was
first cousin to the wife of my host. I knew also that he was a
man eminently "well-to-do," both as regarded his professional and
private means. The Jelfs entertained him with that sort of observant
courtesy which falls to the lot of the rich relation, the children
made much of him, and the old butler, albeit somewhat surly "to the
general," treated him with deference. I thought, observing him by
the vague mixture of lamplight and twilight, that Mrs. Jelf's cousin
looked all the worse for the three years' wear and tear which had
gone over his head since our last meeting. He was very pale, and
had a restless light in his eye that I did not remember to have
observed before. The anxious lines, too, about his mouth were
deepened, and there was a cavernous, hollow look about his cheeks
and temples which seemed to speak of sickness or sorrow.
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