Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
When through he indulged in a moment's approving inspection in his mirror, and nodded with satisfaction because of the transformation he had brought about in his personal appearance.
"I'll say this for ye, Terence, me lad," he volunteered: "that when ye are of the mind to take trouble with yourself, 'tis the bould, dashing creature ye are!"
And he chuckled light-heartedly at his own conceit, extinguishing the lamp and locking his door.
Yet he had no more than hinted at the irrefutable truth, for he was by no means ill-favored by nature: a man tall and broad beyond the average, with square shoulders and a full chest, with lean yet muscular flanks and long and sinewy limbs, well-knit and well set-up. His countenance was dark,—as has been indicated, the hall mark of a veteran campaigner—but nevertheless of a versatile mobility, and illuminated with eyes of warm gray, steadfast yet alert, swift to mirror the play of his emotional and passionate nature, bespeaking good-humor, an easy temper and—ordinarily at least—a habit of optimism.
For the rest he carried himself with confidence and assurance, as fits well upon an Irish gentleman—was he not "the O'Rourke"?—but without any aggressiveness. He was ready of wit, quick of tongue, tolerant of disposition: a citizen of the wide world, seasoned, sure of himself, young.
He descended the stairs with spirit, passed out before the conciergerie with an air. Madame Thérèse, the vigilant, observed and admired, regretting the harsh terms she had applied to her lodger, earlier in the day. "He gives the hôtel distinction," she murmured; and resolved mentally that in the future she would accord this splendid young person more consideration.
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