His life was a very pleasant one indeed.
He had come down from Oxford just a year ago, and had determined to
take things as they came, to foster acquaintanceships, to travel a
little with a congenial friend, to stay about in other people's
houses, and, in fact, to enjoy himself entirely before settling down
to read law. He had done this most successfully, and had crowned all,
as has been related, by falling in love on a July evening with one
who, he was quite certain, was the mate designed for him for Time and
Eternity. His life, in fact, up to three days ago had developed along
exactly those lines along which his temperament traveled with the
greatest ease. He was the only son of a widow, he had an excellent
income, he made friends wherever he went, and he had just secured the
most charming rooms close to the Temple. He had plenty of brains, an
exceedingly warm heart, and had lately embraced a religion that
satisfied every instinct of his nature. It was the best of all
possible worlds, and fitted him like his own well-cut clothes. It
consisted of privileges without responsibilities.
And now the crash had come, and all was over.
As the gong sounded for luncheon he turned over and lay on his back,
staring at the ceiling.
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