The Choir Invisible

That he expected to be at the party might have been inferred from his dress:

a blue broadcloth coat with yellow gilt buttons; a swan's-down waistcoat

with broad stripes of red and white; a pair of dove-coloured corded-velvet

pantaloons with three large yellow buttons on the hips; and a neckcloth of

fine white cam- bric.His figure was thickset, strong, cumbrous; his hair

black, curly, shining. His eyes, bold, vivacious, and now inflamed, were of

that rarely beautiful blue which is seen only in members of the Irish race.

His complexion was a blending of the lily and the rose. His lips were thick

and red under his short fuzzy moustache. His hands also were thick and soft,

always warm, and not very clean--on account of the dog-skin inking-balls.

He had two ruling passions: the influence he thought himself entitled to

exert over women; and his disposition to play practical jokes on men. Both

the first and the second of these weaknesses grew out of his confidence that

he had nothing to fear from either sex. Nevertheless he had felt forced to

admit that his charms had never prevailed with Amy Falconer. He had often

wondered how she could resist; but she had resisted without the least

effort. Still, he pursued, and he had once told her with smiling candour

that if she did not mind the pursuit, he did not mind the chase. Only, he

never urged it into the presence of Mrs. Falconer, of whom alone he stood in

speechless, easily comprehensible awe. Perhaps to-night--as Amy had never

seen him in ball-dress--she might begin to succumb; he had just placed her

under obligation to him by an unexpected stroke of good fortune; and finally

he had executed one neat stratagem at the expense of Mr. Bradford and

another at the expense of John Gray. So that esteeming himself in a fair way

to gratify one passion and having already gratified the other, he leaned

back in his chair, smiling, smoking, drinking.

He had just risen to pinch the wick in the lamp overhead when a knock

sounded on the door, and to his surprise and displeasure--for he thought he

had bolted it--there entered without waiting to be bidden a low,

broadchested, barefooted, blond fellow, his brown-tow breeches rolled up to

his knees, showing a pair of fine white calves; a clean shirt thrown open at

the neck and rolled up to the elbows, displaying a noble pair of arms; a

ruddy shine on his good-humoured face; a drenched look about his short,

thick, whitish hair; and a comfortable smell of soap emanating from his

entire person.

Seeing him, O'Bannon looked less displeased; but keeping his seat and merely

taking the pipe from his lips, he said, with an air of sarcasm, "I would

have invited you to come in, Peter, but I see you have not waited for the

invitation."