In a day or two, however, the clouds lifted and the sun shone as brilliantly as ever.

Oscar's spirits could not be depressed for long: he took a child's joy in living and in every incident of life.

When I left him in Paris a week or so later, in midsummer, he was full of gaiety and humour, talking as delightfully as ever with a touch of cynicism that added piquancy to his wit.

Shortly after I arrived in London he wrote saying he was ill, and that I really ought to send him some money.

I had already paid him more than the amount we had agreed upon at first for his scenario, and I was hard up and anything but well.