It posed the lad, made him more perfect, as it were.

Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.

Worlds had to be in travail, that the meanest flower might blow....

And how charming he had been at dinner the night before, as with startled eyes and lips parted in frightened pleasure he had sat opposite to him at the club, the red candleshades staining to a richer rose the wakening wonder of his face.

Talking to him was like playing upon an exquisite violin.