A modern Bayard.

For the last year or so he seemed to put my back up.

Behaved in rather a curious way, never came near the house where once he was always welcome, and when I asked him to dinner he turned me down flat.
But that's all over.

Sometimes one has these pettifogging personal vanities.

The best thing is to be heartily ashamed of 'em like an honest man, and throw 'em out in the dung-heap where they belong.
That's what I told Edith last night, and she agreed with me.