some singular things, and I think I may say
that for a considerable period my most valued knowledge of English
society was extracted from this genial youth. I suppose he usually found
me a woman of good counsel, for certain it is that he has appealed to
me for the light of wisdom in very extraordinary predicaments. In his
earlier years he was perpetually in hot water; he tumbled into scrapes
as children tumble into puddles. He invited them, he invented them; and
when he came to tell you how his trouble had come about (and he always
told the whole truth), it was difficult to believe that a man should
have been so idiotic.

And yet he was not an idiot; he was supposed to be very clever,
and certainly is very quick and amusing. He was only reckless, and
extraordinarily natural, as natural as if he had been an Irishman. In
fact, of all the Englishmen that I have known he is the most Irish in
temperament (though he has got over it comparatively of late). I used to
tell him that it was a great inconvenience that he didn't speak with a
brogue, because then we should be forewarned, and know with whom we were
dealing. He replied that, by analogy, if he were Irish enough to have
a brogue he would probably be English, which seemed to me an answer
wonderfully in character. Like most young Britons of his class he went
to America, to see the great country, before he was twenty, and he took
a letter to my father, who had occasion, _a propos_ of some pickle of
course, to render him a considerable service. This led to his coming
to see me--I had already been living here three or four years--on
his return; and that, in the course of time, led to our becoming fast
friends, without, as I tell you, the smallest philandering on either
side. But I must n't protest too much; I shall excite your suspicion.
"If he has made love to so many women, why should n't he have made love
to you?"--some inquiry of that sort you will be likely to make. I have
answered it already, "Simply on account of those very engagements." He
could n't make love to every one, and with me it would n't have done him
the least good. It was a more amiable weakness than his brother's, and
he has always behaved very well. How well he behaved on a very important
occasion is precisely the subject of my story.

He was supposed to have embraced the diplomatic career; had been
secretary of legation at some German capital; but after his brother's
death he came home and looked out f