And Julian loved Valentine for looking up to him, finding in this absurd modesty of his friend a crowning beauty of character.

He had never told Valentine the fact that Valentine kept him pure, held his bounding nature in leash, was the wall of fire that hedged him from sin, the armour that protected him against the assaults of self.

He had never told Valentine this secret, which he cherished with the exceeding and watchful care men so often display in hiding that which does them credit.

For who is not a pocket Byron nowadays?
But to-night was fated by the Immortals to be a night of self-revelation.
And Valentine led the way by taking a step that surprised Julian not a little.

For as Valentine frowned he said: "Yes, I begin to hate my nickname, and I begin to hate myself." Julian could not help smiling at the absurdity of this bemoaning.
"What is it in yourself that you hate so much ?" he asked, with a decided curiosity.
Valentine sat considering.
"Well," he replied at length, "I think it is my inhumanity, which robs me of many things.