I flatter myself that I produced, as I intended, a distinct impression.
My deep mourning gave me a most interesting look, which I heightened
by an air of languor and abstraction as of one lost in grief. My
shirt-studs were jet. The plaits of my shirt were edged with black. My
Clarendon was, of course, black, and from its breast-pocket appeared a
handkerchief dotted with spots, not dissimilar to black peppermint-drops
on a white paper. In consequence of the extreme heat of the season, I
wore waistcoat and trousers of white duck; but they, too, were qualified
with sombre contrasts of binding and stripes.
The waiters evidently remarked me. It may have been the hope of
pecuniary reward, it may have been merely admiration for my dress and
person; but several rushed forward, diffusing that slightly oleaginous
perfume peculiar to the waiter, and drew chairs for me.
I had, however, selected my position at the table at the moment of
my entrance. It was _vis-a-vis_ a party of four persons,--two of the
sterner, two of the softer sex. A back view interpreted them to me.
There is much physiognomy in the backs of human heads, because--and here
I flatter myself that I enunciate a profound truth--people wear that
well-known mask, the human countenance, on the front of the human head
alone, and think it necessary to provide such concealment nowhere else.
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