childishly annoyed that my play was
going to be produced and resolved to get all the money he could from me
by hook or by crook. I never met such persistence in demands. I could
only settle with him decently by paying him a further sum, which I did.

In the course of this bargaining and begging I realised that contrary to
my previous opinion he was not gifted as a friend, and did not attribute
any importance to friendship. His affection for Bosie Douglas even had
given place to hatred: indeed his liking for him had never been founded
on understanding or admiration; it was almost wholly snobbish: he loved
the title, the romantic name--Lord Alfred Douglas. Robert Ross was the
only friend of whom he always spoke with liking and appreciation: "One
of the wittiest of men," he used to call him and would jest at his
handwriting, which was peculiarly bad, but always good-naturedly; "a
letter merely shows that Bobbie has something to conceal"; but he would
add, "how kind he is, how good," as if Ross's devotion surprised him, as
in fact it did. Ross has since told me that Oscar never cared much for
him. Indeed Oscar cared so little for anyone that an unselfish affection
astonished him beyond measure: he could find in himself no explanation
of it. His vanity was always more active than his gratitude, as indeed
it is with most of us. Now and then when Ross played mentor or took him
to task, he became prickly at once and would retort: "Really, Bobbie,
you ride the high horse so well, and so willingly, it seems a pity that
you never tried Pegasus"--not a sneer exactly, but a rap on the knuckles
to call his monitor to order. Like most men of charming manners, Oscar
was selfish and self-centred, too convinced of his own importance to
spend much thought on others; yet generous to the needy and kind to all.

After my return to London he kept on begging for money by almost every
post. As soon as my play was advertised I found myself dunned and
persecuted by a horde of people who declared that Oscar had sold them
the scenario he afterwards sold to me.[38] Several of them threatened to
get injunctions to prevent me staging my play, "Mr. and Mrs. Daventry,"
if I did not first settle with them. Naturally, I wrote rather sharply
to Oscar for having led me into this hornets' nest.

It was in the midst of all this unpleasantness that I heard from Turner,
in October, I believe, that Oscar was seriously ill, and that if I owed
him money, as he as