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"I never can understand a chap not bein' keen on shootin'," said the
youth who had not yet spoken.
"Ah, but you would if you had known him," said the soldier. "He was
so full of life and vivid vitality. One could not imagine him either
dying or dealing death. And his love of the beautiful was almost a
form of religious worship. I can't explain it; but he had a way of
making you see beauty in things you had hardly noticed before. And
now, poor chap, he can't see them himself."
"Has he a mother?" asked the older woman.
"No, he has no one. He is absolutely alone. Scores of friends of
course; he was a most popular man about town, and could stay in
almost any house in the kingdom if he chose to send a post-card to
say he was coming. But no relations, I believe, and never would
marry. Poor chap! He will wish he had been less fastidious, now. He
might have had the pick of all the nicest girls, most seasons. But
not he! Just charming friendships, and wedded to his art. And now,
as Lady Ingleby, says, he lies in the dark, helpless and alone.


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