Although I had from motives of policy given up the idea of making Sibella my wife, I was none the less somewhat overcome at receiving an invitation to her wedding. Grahame Hallward and I had lunch together in the City the day I received it.
“What do you think, Israel? Lionel has asked me to be his best man,” he said.
“Are you going to?”
“Well, I told him that I thought it was rather silly for the bride’s brother to be best man, and I asked him whether there was not someone else. He got quite annoyed, and so did Sibella. He was angry, I believe, chiefly because he could not think of a friend as a substitute. As a matter of fact, I don’t think he has many friends.”
“I don’t understand him,” I said. “He goes about a great deal, and knows some very decent people, and yet the men don’t like him.”
“Women do, though, don’t they?”
“I suppose so.”
“I’m sorry for Sibella, Israel—I am really. Of course, she won’t suffer so much as other women might when she finds him out, because she has no heart.”
“Do you really think that, Grahame?”
“Sorry to say I do. Of course, I would not say such a thing to anybody else, but you’re almost like one of us.”