All my life I have asked too much of people and then been left gaping at their unsatisfyingness. So it was no wonder that I was always frankly amazed whenever I stopped to realise that Little Yeogh Wough had always come up to my expectations. Not that he was ever a prig. Heaven forbid! I would run farther from a prig than from a criminal. He has always had heaps of faults. But they are fine faults. One never rams one's head against a blank wall in him, but always finds deeps and deeps behind. "That there Master Roland 'ave got so many nooks and corners in his mind that you can't never tell when you've got to the end of 'im," Old Nurse said once, mixing up her words, but showing her meaning plainly enough. "And what I says is, 'e'll go on getting deeper and deeper all his life, till 'e gets into the sincere and yellow leaf, as the Scriptures calls it." Oh, how his room went on speaking to me of him! Sargent's picture of Carmencita, the Spanish dancer, is over the fireplace, with two fencing foils crossed above it; and above these again is a picture of two stately lovers walking by the shore in Brittany. The table near the foot of the bed had a pile of little military books upon it--"Quick Training for War" and its fellows--and dear little books of poems, and some sheets of his favourite green blotting-paper. He put himself out a good deal to get that green blotting-paper, saying that white showed the ink stains too much, while pink was an abomination, like a red flannel petticoat for a woman or a magenta pelisse for a pallid, blue-eyed child. The dressing-table drawers were, and still are, full of things that he has no use for at the Front; all except the two small drawers on either side of the looking-glass, which have got a few old letters in them and a few odds and ends of nice things, such as solidified Eau de Cologne and the most deliciously fragrant shaving cream.