ed the outward comforts of the moment. It seemed that he
lacked sufficient imagination to realise future misery though the
futurity to be considered was divided from the present but by a single
month, a single week,--but by a single night. He liked to be kindly
treated, to be praised and petted, to be well fed and caressed; and
they who so treated him were his chosen friends. He had in this the
instincts of a horse, not approaching the higher sympathies of a dog.
But it cannot be said of him that he had ever loved any one to the
extent of denying himself a moment's gratification on that loved one's
behalf. His heart was a stone. But he was beautiful to lock at,
ready-witted, and intelligent. He was very dark, with that soft olive
complexion which so generally gives to young men an appearance of
aristocratic breeding. His hair, which was never allowed to become
long, was nearly black, and was soft and silky without that taint of
grease which is so common with silken-headed darlings. His eyes were
long, brown in colour, and were made beautiful by the perfect arch of
the perfect eyebrow. But perhaps the glory of the face was due more to
the finished moulding and fine symmetry of the nose and mouth than to
his other features. On his short upper lip he had a moustache as well
formed as his eyebrows, but he wore no other beard. The form of his
chin too was perfect, but it lacked that sweetness and softness of
expression, indicative of softness of heart, which a dimple conveys.
He was about five feet nine in height, and was as excellent in figure
as in face. It was admitted by men and clamorously asserted by women
that no man had ever been more handsome than Felix Carbury, and it
was admitted also that he never showed consciousness of his beauty. He
had given himself airs on many scores;--on the score of his money, poor
fool, while it lasted; on the score of his title; on the score of his
army standing till he lost it; and especially on the score of
superiority in fashionable intellect. But he had been clever enough to
dress himself always with simplicity and to avoid the appearance of
thought about his outward man. As yet the little world of his
associates had hardly found out how callous were his affections,--or
rather how devoid he was of affection. His airs and his appearance,
joined with some cleverness, had carried him through even the
viciousness of his life. In one matter he had marred his name, and by
a moment's weakne