He was a man of forty, not good-looking, and yet not ugly, for his features were rather good; but they were all a little larger than life-size, and the effect was ungainly.
He was clean shaven, and his large face looked uncomfortably naked. His hair was reddish, cut very short, and his eyes were small, blue or grey. He looked commonplace.
I no longer wondered that Mrs. Strickland felt a certain embarrassment about him; he was scarcely a credit to a woman who wanted to make herself a position in the world of art and letters.
It was obvious that he had no social gifts, but these a man can do without; he had no eccentricity (古怪) even, to take him out of the common run; he was just a good, dull, honest, plain man.
One would admire his excellent qualities, but avoid his company. He was null.
He was probably a worthy (有价值的) member of society, a good husband and father, an honest broker; but there was no reason to waste one's time over him.
The season was drawing to its dusty end, and everyone I knew was arranging to go away.
Mrs. Strickland was taking her family to the coast of Norfolk, so that the children might have the sea and her husband golf.
We said good-bye to one another, and arranged to meet in the autumn.
