He was a jocular, tiresome, gregarious soul, habitually untidy, creased and rumpled, who was always thirsty, but who, as the Judge was accustomed to reply when Corinna remonstrated, "would divide his last julep with a friend." The men had been companions from boyhood, and were still inseparable.

For the same delusion makes strange friendships, and the General, in spite of his appearance of damaged reality, also inhabited that enchanted fairy-ring where no fact ever entered.
With the bowl of marigolds in her hands, Corinna came over to the tea-table and stood smiling dreamily at Stephen.

The firelight dancing over her made a riot of colour, and she looked the image of happiness, though the young man knew that the ephemeral illusion was created by the red of her gown and the burnished gold of the flowers.
"John Benham sent them to me because I praised his speech," she said.
"Wasn't it nice of him ?" "He always does nice things when one doesn't expect them," he answered.
Corinna laughed.

"Is it because they are nice that he does them ?" she inquired with a touch of malice.

"Or because they are not expected ?" "I didn't mean that." There was a shade of confusion in Stephen's tone.
"Benham is my friend--my best friend almost though he is so much older.
There isn't a man living whom I admire more." "Yes, I know," replied Corinna; and then--was it in innocence or in malice ?--she asked sweetly: "Have you seen Alice Rokeby this winter ?" For an instant Stephen gazed at her in silence.