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Chapter 7

           Hestoodforamomentapparentlylostinthought.

           "EverythingintheUniverseisperfect,"—hesaid,"exceptthatcuriouspieceofwork—Man.Haveyouneverthoughtoutanyreasonwhyheshouldbetheoneflaw—theoneincompletecreatureinamatchlessCreation?"

           "No,Ihavenot,"—Ireplied—"ItakethingsasIfindthem."

           "SodoI,"—andheturnedaway,"AndasIfindthem,sotheyfindme!Aurevoir!Dinnerinanhour’stimeremember!"

           Thedooropenedandclosed—hewasgone.Iremainedaloneforalittle,thinkingwhatastrangedispositionwashis—whatacuriousmixtureofphilosophy,worldliness,sentimentandsatireseemedtorunliketheveinsofaleafthroughthevariabletemperamentofthisbrilliant,semi-mysteriouspersonagewhohadbymerechancebecomemygreatestfriend.Wehadnowbeenmoreorlesstogetherfornearlyamonth,andIwasnoclosertothesecretofhisactualnaturethanIhadbeenatfirst.YetIadmiredhimmorethanever—withouthissocietyIfeltlifewouldbedeprivedofhalfitscharm.Forthough,attractedashumanmothswillbebytheglareofmyglitteringmillions,numbersofso-called‘friends’nowsurroundedme,therewasnotoneamongthemwhosodominatedmyeverymoodandwithwhomIhadsomuchclosesympathyasthisman—thismasterful,halfcruel,halfkindcompanionofmydays,whoattimesseemedtoacceptalllifeastheveriestbagatelle,andmyselfasapartofthetrivialgame.

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