"You have seen quite a good deal of him," she said. "Tell me what you
think of Lord Arranmore." His hand fell to his side. He stood under the
gas-bracket, and she could see his face distinctly. There was a slight
frown upon his forehead, a look of trouble in his grey eyes.
"You could not have asked me a more difficult question," he admitted.
"Lord Arranmore has been very kind to me, although my claim upon him has
been of the slightest. He is very clever, almost fantastic, in some of
his notions; he is very polished, and his manners are delightful. He
would call himself, I believe, a philosopher, and he is, although it
sounds brutal for me to say so, very selfish. And behind it all I
haven't the faintest idea what sort of a man he is. Sometimes he gives
one the impression of a strong man wilfully disguising his real
characteristics, for hidden reasons; at others, he is like one of those
brilliant Frenchmen of the last century, who toyed and juggled with
words and phrases, esteeming it a triumph to remain an unread letter
even to their intimates. So you see, after all," he wound up, "I cannot
tell you what I think of Lord Arranmore.
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