Taking his portrait, from top to toe, the picture of him began with a tall hat, broadly encircled by a mourning band of crumpled crape.  Below the hat was a lean, long, sallow face, deeply pitted with the smallpox, and characterized, very remarkably, by eyes of two different colors—­one bilious green, one bilious brown, both sharply intelligent.  His hair was iron-gray, carefully brushed round at the temples.  His cheeks and chin were in the bluest bloom of smooth shaving; his nose was short Roman; his lips long, thin, and supple, curled up at the corners with a mildly-humorous smile.  His white cravat was high, stiff, and dingy; the collar, higher, stiffer, and dingier, projected its rigid points on either side beyond his chin.  Lower down, the lithe little figure of the man was arrayed throughout in sober-shabby black.  His frock-coat was buttoned tight round the waist, and left to bulge open majestically at the chest.  His hands were covered with black cotton gloves neatly darned at the fingers; his umbrella, worn down at the ferule to the last quarter of an inch, was carefully preserved, nevertheless, in an oilskin case.  The front view of him was the view in which he looked oldest; meeting him face to face, he might have been estimated at fifty or more.  Walking behind him, his back and shoulders were almost young enough to have passed for five-and-thirty.  His manners were distinguished by a grave serenity.  When he opened his lips, he spoke in a rich bass voice, with an easy flow of language, and a strict attention to the elocutionary claims of words in more than one syllable.  Persuasion distilled from his mildly-curling lips; and, shabby as he was, perennial flowers of courtesy bloomed all over him from head to foot.

“This is the residence of Mr. Vanstone, I believe?” he began, with a circular wave of his hand in the direction of the house.  “Have I the honor of addressing a member of Mr. Vanstone’s family?”

“Yes,” said the plain-spoken Miss Garth.  “You are addressing Mr. Vanstone’s governess.”

The persuasive man fell back a step—­admired Mr. Vanstone’s governess—­advanced a step again—­and continued the conversation.

“And the two young ladies,” he went on, “the two young ladies who were walking with you are doubtless Mr. Vanstone’s daughters?  I recognized the darker of the two, and the elder as I apprehend, by her likeness to her handsome mother.  The younger lady—­”

“You are acquainted with Mrs. Vanstone, I suppose?” said Miss Garth, interrupting the stranger’s flow of language, which, all things considered, was beginning, in her opinion, to flow rather freely.  The stranger acknowledged the interruption by one of his polite bows, and submerged Miss Garth in his next sentence as if nothing had happened.

“The younger lady,” he proceeded, “takes after her father, I presume?  I assure you, her face struck me.  Looking at it with my friendly interest in the family, I thought it very remarkable.  I said to myself—­Charming, Characteristic, Memorable.  Not like her sister, not like her mother.  No doubt, the image of her father?”