sagreement up to the
day of his death.

Cowles' father was the colonel of a Sikh regiment and had remained in
India for many years. He allowed his son a handsome income, but seldom
gave any other sign of parental affection--writing irregularly and
briefly.

My friend, who had himself been born in India, and whose whole
disposition was an ardent tropical one, was much hurt by this neglect.
His mother was dead, and he had no other relation in the world to supply
the blank.

Thus he came in time to concentrate all his affection upon me, and to
confide in me in a manner which is rare among men. Even when a stronger
and deeper passion came upon him, it never infringed upon the old
tenderness between us.

Cowles was a tall, slim young fellow, with an olive, Velasquez-like
face, and dark, tender eyes. I have seldom seen a man who was more
likely to excite a woman's interest, or to captivate her imagination.
His expression was, as a rule, dreamy, and even languid; but if in
conversation a subject arose which interested him he would be all
animation in a moment. On such occasions his colour would heighten, his
eyes gleam, and he could speak with an eloquence which would carry his
audience with him.

In spite of these natural advantages he led a solitary life, avoiding
female society, and reading with great diligence. He was one of the
foremost men of his year, taking the senior medal for anatomy, and the
Neil Arnott prize for physics.

How well I can recollect the first time we met her! Often and often I
have recalled the circumstances, and tried to remember what the exact
impression was which she produced on my mind at the time.

After we came to know her my judgment was warped, so that I am curious
to recollect what my unbiassed{sic} instincts were. It is hard, however,
to eliminate the feelings which reason or prejudice afterwards raised in
me.

It was at the opening of the Royal Scottish Academy in the spring of
1879. My poor friend was passionately attached to art in every form, and
a pleasing chord in music or a delicate effect upon canvas would give
exquisite pleasure to his highly-strung nature. We had gone together to
see the pictures, and were standing in the grand central salon, when I
noticed an extremely beautiful woman standing at the other side of the
room. In my whole life I have never seen such a classically perfect
countenance. It was the real Greek type--the forehead broad, very low,
and as white a