His beardless countenance had deceived more than one finished diplomat, for it was difficult to believe that behind it lay an earnest purpose and a daring courage.

If he bragged a little, quizzed graybeards, sought strange places, sported with convention, and eluded women, it was due to his restlessness.

Yet, he had the secretiveness of sand; he absorbed, but he revealed nothing.

He knew his friends; they thought they knew him.

It was his delight to have women think him a butterfly, men write him down a fool; it covered up his real desires and left him free.
What cynicism he had was mellowed by a fanciful humor.