He had proved a failure.
Not one of his whole family connections could say unto the others,
"I told you so," when he turned out badly.
They had all predicted that he was born for great things, then to
discover that they had over-estimated him was irritating, it told
against their discernment, it was unflattering, and they thought
him inconsiderate.
So, in addition to his failure, Cragstone had to face the fact that
he had made himself unpopular among his kin.
As a boy he had been the pride of his family, as a youth, its hope
of fame and fortune; he was clever, handsome, inventive, original,
everything that society and his kind admired, but he criminally
fooled them and their expectation, and they never forgave him for
it.
He had dabbled in music, literature, law, everything--always with
semi-success and brilliant promise; he had even tried the stage,
playing the Provinces for an entire season; then, ultimately
sinking into mediocrity in all these occupations, he returned to
London, a hopelessly useless, a pitiably gifted man. His chilly
little aristocratic mother always spoke of him as "poor, dear
Charles." His brothers, clubmen all, graciously alluded to him
with, "deuced hard luck, poor Charlie.
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