Howard was a friend of mine, an
intimate friend, though, strictly speaking, from his character he
ought not to have been.
As a general rule I steer clear of friendships with men who are very
much opposed to me in character; it saves a lot of bother in the
end. However, in this case, although I believed Howard to be a weak,
worthless, untrustworthy individual, I could not help liking him. He
was talented and of a pleasing--at least to me--personality. When I
came into his room he was sitting reading in a long chair by the
fire.
"Oh! is that you, Vic? Come in," he said, turning a good-looking
discontented face towards me, not improved just now by the effects
of a severe attack of jaundice.
"How are you?" I said, shaking his saffron-hued hand.
"Pretty beastly. And you?"
"Your remark might serve, I think," I said, taking a chair opposite
him.
"Aren't you any better?" and I scanned his face closely.
He was not more than twenty, and had a singularly fine type of
countenance.
"Oh yes, thanks! Crawling on."
"Any news?"
"None, I think, except that I've broken with Kitty."
I laughed.
"I knew you'd have to!" I said. "Did I not say so from the first? I
felt sure you could never stand her!"
"I am rather sorry, for she was very pretty; but the last straw she
put upon me was too much. I couldn't--after that--no, I couldn't,
really.
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