He looked very solemn and grave when he was not speaking, and he was apt to get a kind of brooding look, which did not disperse till one spoke to him.

He was thinner, too, and paler, though the old lock of hair still dangled over his forehead, and his eyes had the old affectionate look.
He was playful and humorous in a quiet way.

I have forgotten what we talked about--we discussed people and things vaguely; I can only remember one little remark he made which struck me as being highly characteristic.

I had said, in reply to some question as to one of our friends, "Oh, he's perfectly crazy." "Yes," said Arthur, mildly: "he has certainly got some curious mannerisms." I ventured to remonstrate with him about the cigarette, but he said gravely that he had given up thinking about his health, it was so very inferior, and that he had come to the conclusion that nothing in moderation made him either better or worse; "and an occasional cigarette," he said, "adds so much to my general serenity, that I feel sure it is perfectly justifiable." I had a very delightful week there.

He talked a good deal, when he was in the mood, about the books he had been reading and the thoughts he had been thinking; but his physical languor at times, especially in the mornings, was very painful to see.