hit you."

"I'm not hit," I protested.

"Just as you like," he said. "Still, it looks rather damp to the left
here."

But, as I knew, the bullet had only grazed me, and the laugh of relief
Lowell gave when he raised his head, and said, "Why, it's only a
scratch," meant as much to me as though he had rendered me some great
service. For it seemed to prove a genuine, friendly concern, and no
one, except Laguerre, had shown that for me since I had left home. I
had taken a fancy to Lowell from the moment he had saluted me like a
brother officer in the Plaza, and I had wished he would like me. I
liked him better than any other young man I had ever met. I had never
had a man for a friend, but before we had finished breakfast I believe
we were better friends than many boys who had lived next door to each
other from the day they were babies.

As a rule, I do not hit it off with men, so I felt that his liking me
was a great piece of good fortune, and a great honor. He was only
three years older than myself, but he knew much more about everything
than I did, and his views of things were as fine and honorable as they
were amusing.

Since then we have grown to be very close friends indeed, and we have
ventured together into many queer corners, but I have never ceased to
admire him, and I have always found him the same--unconscious of
himself and sufficient to himself. I mean that if he were presented to
an Empress he would not be impressed, nor if he chatted with a bar-