Neither did he. No young man does. But what she said struck him as unpleasantly modern. He met Grismer here and there in the artistic channels of the city; often in Stephanie’s studio, frequently in other studios, and occasionally amid gatherings at restaurants, theatres, art galleries. At first he had been civil but cool, avoiding any tête-à-tête with his old school-fellow. But, little by little, he became aware of several things which slightly influenced his attitude toward Grismer. One thing became plain; the man had no intimates. There was not a man Cleland met who seemed to care very much for Grismer; he seemed to have no frank and cordial friendships among men, no pals. Yet, he was considered clever and amusing where people gathered; he interested men without evoking their personal sympathy; he interested women intensely with his unusual good looks and the light, elusive quality of his intelligence. Always amiably suave, graceful of movement, alert and considerate of feminine fancies, moods and caprices, he was welcomed everywhere by them in the circles which he sauntered into. But he was merely accepted by men. So, in spite of his resentment at what Grismer had done, Cleland felt slightly sorry for this friendless man. For Grismer’s was a solitary soul, and Cleland, who had suffered from loneliness enough to understand it, gradually became conscious of the intense loneliness of this man, even amid his popularity with women and their sympathetic and sentimental curiosity concerning him. But no man seemed to care for closer intimacy with Grismer than a friendly acquaintanceship offered. There was something about him that did not seem to attract or invite men’s careless comradeship or confidence. "It’s those floating golden specks in his eyes," said Belter, discussing him one day with Cleland. "He’s altogether too auriferous and graceful to be entirely genuine, Cleland—too easy and too damned bland. Poor beggar; have you noticed how shabby and shiny he’s getting? I guess he’s down and out for fair financially." Cleland had noticed it. The man’s linen was visibly frayed. His clothes, too, betrayed his meagre circumstances, yet he wore them so well, and there was such a courtly indifference in the man, that the shabby effect seemed due to a sort of noble carelessness. Cleland had never called on Grismer. He had no inclination to do so, no particular reason except that Grismer had invited him several times. Yet, an uneasy curiosity lurked within him concerning Grismer’s abode and whether Stephanie, always serenely unconventional, ever went there. He didn’t care to think she did, yet, after all, the girl was this man’s legal wife, and there was no moral law to prevent her going there and taking up her abode if she were so inclined. Cleland never asked her if she went there, perhaps dreading her reply.