The lips opened to smile, the teeth were faultless; an effect was produced, if a cold one—­the colder for the unparticipating northern eyes; eyes of that half cloud and blue, which make a kind of hueless grey, and are chiefly striking in an authoritative stage.  Without contradicting, for he was exactly polite, his look signified a person conscious of being born to command:  in fine, an aristocrat among the ‘aristocracy of Europeans.’  His differences of opinion were prefaced by a ‘Pardon me,’ and pausing smile of the teeth; then a succinctly worded sentence or two, a perfect settlement of the dispute.  He disliked argumentation.  He said so, and Diana remarked it of him, speaking as, a wife who merely noted a characteristic.  Inside his boundary, he had neat phrases, opinions in packets.  Beyond it, apparently the world was void of any particular interest.  Sir Lukin, whose boundary would have shown a narrower limitation had it been defined, stood no chance with him.  Tory versus Whig, he tried a wrestle, and was thrown.  They agreed on the topic of Wine.  Mr. Warwick had a fine taste in wine.  Their after-dinner sittings were devoted to this and the alliterative cognate theme, equally dear to the gallant ex-dragoon, from which it resulted that Lady Dunstane received satisfactory information in a man’s judgement of him.  ’Warwick is a clever fellow, and a thorough man of the world, I can tell you, Emmy.’  Sir Lukin further observed that he was a gentlemanly fellow.  ‘A gentlemanly official!’ Diana’s primary dash of portraiture stuck to him, so true it was!  As for her, she seemed to have forgotten it.  Not only did she strive to show him to advantage by leading him out; she played second to him; subserviently, fondly; she quite submerged herself, content to be dull if he might shine; and her talk of her husband in her friend’s blue-chamber boudoir of the golden stars, where they had discussed the world and taken counsel in her maiden days, implied admiration of his merits.  He rode superbly:  he knew Law:  he was prepared for any position:  he could speak really eloquently; she had heard him at a local meeting.  And he loved the old Crossways almost as much as she did.  ’He has promised me he will never ask me to sell it,’ she said, with a simpleness that could hardly have been acted.

When she was gone, Lady Dunstane thought she had worn a mask, in the natural manner of women trying to make the best of their choice; and she excused her poor Tony for the artful presentation of him at her own cost.  But she could not excuse her for having married the man.  Her first and her final impression likened him to a house locked up and empty:  a London house conventionally furnished and decorated by the upholsterer, and empty of inhabitants.  How a brilliant and beautiful girl could have committed this rashness, was the perplexing riddle:  the knottier because the man was idle:  and Diana had ambition; she despised and dreaded idleness in men.  Empty of inhabitants even to the ghost!  Both human and spiritual were wanting.  The mind contemplating him became reflectively stagnant.