His vanity was always more active than his gratitude, as indeed it is with most of us.

Now and then when Ross played mentor or took him to task, he became prickly at once and would retort: "Really, Bobbie, you ride the high horse so well, and so willingly, it seems a pity that you never tried Pegasus"-- not a sneer exactly, but a rap on the knuckles to call his monitor to order.

Like most men of charming manners, Oscar was selfish and self-centred, too convinced of his own importance to spend much thought on others; yet generous to the needy and kind to all.
After my return to London he kept on begging for money by almost every post.

As soon as my play was advertised I found myself dunned and persecuted by a horde of people who declared that Oscar had sold them the scenario he afterwards sold to me.[38] Several of them threatened to get injunctions to prevent me staging my play, "Mr.and Mrs.Daventry," if I did not first settle with them.

Naturally, I wrote rather sharply to Oscar for having led me into this hornets' nest.
It was in the midst of all this unpleasantness that I heard from Turner, in October, I believe, that Oscar was seriously ill, and that if I owed him money, as he asserted, it would be a kindness to send it, as he was in great need.