“You can always tell a man by his friends, Israel,” he had said to me, “and young Hallward seems an altogether delightful fellow.”
I could not forbear smiling. As a rule, it may be true that birds of a feather flock together, and that a man can be judged by the company he keeps, but at the same time it is curious what a man will put up with in the friend of his heart. The friendship of Grahame Hallward and myself was not dependent on any strong community of tastes and interests. It was the outcome of his own loyal nature, which, having made a friend, held to him. Mrs. and Miss Gascoyne liked him from the first.
He grasped the situation between Miss Gascoyne and myself at once, and he was the one person with whom I permitted myself to discuss it. He was enthusiastic in his admiration.
“She is a queenly woman, Israel. Have you known her long?”
“About a year.”
“Well, you’re a lucky chap.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mustn’t I discuss the matter? Tell me to shut up, and I will.”
“You know I will discuss anything with you.”
He gave me an affectionate look.