I beg you not to make friends with that red-haired _poseur_ I saw you talking to in the hall." "Mr.Radowitz!--the musician?
I thought him delightful! He is coming to play to me to-morrow." "Ah, I thought so!" said Falloden wrathfully.

"He is an impossible person.

He wears a frilled shirt, scents himself, and recites his own poems when he hasn't been asked.

And he curries favour--abominably--with the dons.

He is a smug--of the first water.