(and in those years, when the century was young, there were,
as everyone knows, many), but one of the most genial men and one
of the handsomest.

The niece, according to Mrs. Prest, was not so old, and she
risked the conjecture that she was only a grandniece.
This was possible; I had nothing but my share in the very limited
knowledge of my English fellow worshipper John Cumnor, who had
never seen the couple. The world, as I say, had recognized
Jeffrey Aspern, but Cumnor and I had recognized him most.
The multitude, today, flocked to his temple, but of that
temple he and I regarded ourselves as the ministers.
We held, justly, as I think, that we had done more for his memory
than anyone else, and we had done it by opening lights into his life.
He had nothing to fear from us because he had nothing to fear
from the truth, which alone at such a distance of time we
could be interested in establishing. His early death had been
the only dark spot in his life, unless the papers in Miss
Bordereau's hands should perversely bring out others.
There had been an impression about 1825 that he had "treated
her badly," just as there had been an impression that he had
"served," as the London populace says, several other ladies
in the same way. Each of these cases Cumnor and I had been
able to investigate, and we had never failed to acquit him
conscientiously of shabby behavior. I judged him perhaps
more indulgently than my friend; certainly, at any rate,
it appeared to me that no man could have walked straighter
in the given circumstances. These were almost always awkward.
Half the women of his time, to speak liberally, had flung
themselves at his head, and out of this pernicious fashion