Never had the earl led such a busy life--one more active, as far as his capabilities allowed.
Still, now and then time hung on his hands, and he felt a great lack of companionship, until, by degrees, his name and a good deal of his history got noised abroad, and he was perfectly inundated with acquaintances.

Of course, he had it at his own option how much or how little he went out into the world.

Every advantage that rank or fortune could give was his already; but he had another possession still--his own as much here as in the solitudes of Cairnforth, the art of making himself "weel likit." The mob of "good society," which is not better than any other mob, will run after money, position, talent, beauty, for a time; but it requires a quality higher and deeper than these, and distinct from them all, to produce lasting popularity.
This the earl had.

In spite of his infirmities, he possessed the rare power of winning love, of making people love him for his own sake.

At first, of course, his society was sought from mere curiosity, or even through meaner motives; but gradually, like the good clergyman with whom "Fools who came to scoff remained to pray," Those who visited him to stare at, or pity a fellow-creature so afflicted, remained, attached by his gentleness, his patience, his wonderful unselfishness.