That is very like Robert.

He loved making little speeches.
It is a pity we did not pull together; but I was hasty, and he was rash.
He had a foolish career, and you are the result.

My mother has told me the story--his and yours." He sat down, ran his fingers through his grey-brown hair, and looking into a mirror, adjusted the bow of his tie, and flipped the flying ends.
The kind of man was new to Gaston: self-indulgent, intelligent, heavily nourished, nonchalant, with a coarse kind of handsomeness.

He felt that here was a man of the world, equipped mentally cap-a-pie, as keen as cruel.

Reading that in the light of the past, he was ready.
"And yet his rashness will hurt you longer than your haste hurt him." The artist took the hint bravely.
"That you will have the estate, and I the title, eh?
Well, that looks likely just now; but I doubt it all the same.