Ivo Spencer Barrasford; Marquis of Rotterham
Of the six men present he gave the least impression of being a mourner at
a funeral. His black coat, which he wore buttoned high across his chest,
was at odd variance with a neckcloth tied in a sporting fashion peculiarly
his own; and his demeanour lacked the solemnity which characterized the
elder members of the party. From his appearance, he might have almost have
been any age, and was in fact, in the late thirties. Of medium height only,
he was very powerfully built, with big shoulders, a deep chest, and thighs
by far too muscular to appear to advantage in the prevailing fashion of
skin-tight pantalons. He was seldom seen in such attire, but generally
wore top-boots and breeches. His coats were well-cut, but made so that he
could shrug himself into them without assistance; and he wore no other
jewellery than his heavy gold signet-ring. He had few graces, his manners
being blunt to a fault, made as many enemies as friends, and, had he not
been endowed with birt, rank, and fortune, would possibly have been
ostracized from polite circles. Buy these magical attributes were his,
and they acted like a talisman upon his world. His Belcher neckties and
his unconventional manners might be deplored but must be accepted; he was
Rotherham.
He was not a handsome man, but his countenance was a striking one, his
eyes, which were of a curiously light gray, having a great deal of hard
brilliance, and being set under straight brows which almost met. His hair
was as black as a crow's wing, his complexion swarthy; and the lines of
his face were harsh, the brow a little craggy, the chin deeply cleft, and
the masterful nose jutting between lean cheeks. His hands were his only
beauty, for they combined strength with shapeliness. Any of the dandy set
would have used all manner of arts to show them off; my Lord Rotherham
dug them into his pockets.
(ch. i)