Nevertheless he has a sort of liking for fast ways in others, knowing that such are the ways of a gallant cavalier.

There is a melancholy over his life which makes him always, to himself and to others, much older than his years.

He is well aware that, being as he is, it is impossible that Beatrix should love him.

Now and then there is a dash of lightness about him, as though he had taught himself in his philosophy that even sorrow may be borne with a smile,--as though there was something in him of the Stoic's doctrine, which made him feel that even disappointed love should not be seen to wound too deep.

But still when he smiles, even when he indulges in some little pleasantry, there is that garb of melancholy over him which always makes a man a prig.