His forehead, and eyes, and nose were all perfect in their form-- "Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself; An eye like Mars, to threaten and command." There was a peculiar brightness in his eye, which would have seemed to denote something absolutely great in his character had it not been for the wavering indecision of his mouth.

There was as it were a vacillation in his lips which took away from the manliness of his physiognomy.
Florence, who regarded his face as almost divine, was yet conscious of some weakness about his mouth which she did not know how to interpret.
But yet, without knowing why it was so, she was accustomed to expect from him doubtful words, half expressed words, which would not declare to her his perfected thoughts--as she would have them declared.

He was six feet high, but neither broad nor narrow, nor fat nor thin, but a very Apollo in Florence's eye.

To the elders who knew him the quintessence of his beauty lay in the fact that he was altogether unconscious of it.

He was a man who counted nothing on his personal appearance for the performance of those deeds which he was most anxious to achieve.