him in whom he was interested, and whose
expenses he paid.

He was in those days an admirable talker, quick, suggestive, amusing,
and with an indefinable charm. He was then a tall, thin, active man,
with flashing eyes, a sanguine complexion, and a mobile face; he wore
his hair rather luxuriantly, and had a picturesque, pointed beard. I
shall never forget the delight of occasional visits to his house; he
was extraordinarily kind and really sympathetic, and he had with young
people a kind of caressing deference in his manner that used to give
one an agreeable sense of dignity. I remember that he had a very deft
way of giving one's halting remarks a kind of twist which used to make
it appear that one had said something profound and poetical.

Well, about twenty years ago, all this came to an end very suddenly.
Hardy lost the greater part of his money at one swoop; he had
inherited, I think, a certain share in his father's business; he had
one brother, older than himself, who carried the business on. Hardy
never looked into money matters, but simply spent whatever came in; the
business came to grief, and Hardy found himself pretty considerably in
debt, with a few hundreds a year of his own. He had, fortunately for
himself, never married; his friends came to his assistance, and
arranged matters as comfortably as possible. Hardy settled in an old
house in Hammersmith, and has lived there ever since. He belonged to
several clubs; but he resigned his membership of all but one, where he
now practically spends his day, and having been always accustomed to
have his own way, and dominate the societies in which he found himself,
took it for granted that he would be the chief person there. He was
always an egoist, but his position, his generosity, and his own charm
had rather tended to conceal the fact.

Well, he has found every one against him in his adversity, and has
suffered from all the petty intrigues of a small and rather
narrow-minded society. His suggestions have been scouted, he has been
pointedly excluded from all share in the management of the club, and
treated with scanty civility. I don't suppose that all this has given
him as much pain as one would imagine, because he has all the
impenetrability and want of perception of the real egoist. I am told
that he used to be treated at one time in the club with indifference,
hostility, and even brutality. But he is not a man to be suppressed--he
works hard, writes reviews,