The Portrait of a Lady
One of these was a remarkably well-made man of five-and-thirty, with a face as English as that of the old gentleman I have just sketched was something else; a noticeably handsome face, fresh-coloured, fair and frank, with firm, straight features, a lively grey eye and the rich adornment of a chestnut beard. This person had a certain fortunate, brilliant exceptional look – the air of a happy temperament fertilized by a high civilization – which would have made almost any observer envy him at a venture. (1.4)
"He’s a very good nurse, Lord Warburton."
"Isn’t he a bit clumsy?" asked his lordship.
"Oh no, he’s not clumsy – considering that he’s an invalid himself. He’s a very good nurse – for a sick-nurse. I call him my sick-nurse because he’s sick himself."
"Oh, come, daddy!" the ugly young man exclaimed.
"Well, you are; I wish you weren’t. But I suppose you can’t help it." (1.8)
Even philosophers have their preferences, and it must be admitted that of his progenitors his father ministered most to his sense of the sweetness of filial dependence. His father, as he had often said to himself, was the more motherly; his mother, on the other hand, was paternal, and even, according to the slang of the day, gubernatorial. (5.1)