"Who is Bosie?" I asked.

"That is Lord Alfred Douglas' pet name. It's all Bosie's fault. He has
quarrelled with his father, or rather his father has quarrelled with him.
He quarrels with everyone; with Lady Queensberry, with Percy Douglas, with
Bosie, everyone. He's impossible. What can I do?"

"Avoid him," I said. "Don't go about with Lord Alfred Douglas. Give
Queensberry his triumph. You could make a friend of him as easily as possible,
if you wished. Write him a conciliatory letter."

"But he'll want me to drop Bosie, and stop seeing Lady Queensberry, and I like
them all; they are charming to me. Why should I cringe to this madman?"

"Because he is a madman."

"Oh, Frank, I can't," he cried. "Bosie wouldn't let me."

"'Wouldn't let you'? I repeated angrily. "How absurd! That Queensberry man
will go to violence, to any extremity. Don't you fight other people's quarrels:
you may have enough of your own some day."

"You're not sympathetic, Frank," he chided weakly. "I know you mean it kindly,
but it's impossible for me to do as you advise. I cannot give up my friend. I
really cannot let Lord Queensberry choose my friends for me. It's too absurd."

"But it's wise," I replied. "There's a very bad verse in one of Hugo's plays.
It always amused me--he likens poverty to a low door and declares that when we
have to pass through it the man who stoops lowest is the wisest. So when you
meet a madman, the wisest thing to do is to avoid him and not quarrel with him."