Containing Some Reflections and the Entrance of Mephistopheles

In taking a mental inventory of his household goods, Sanderson's eyes
fell on the photograph of a woman on the mantel-piece. He frowned.
What right had she there, when his mind was full of another? He walked
over to the picture and threw it into the fire. It was not the first
picture to know a similar fate after occupying that place of honor.

The blackened edges of the picture were whirling up the chimney, when
Sanderson's attention was arrested by a knock.

"Come in," he called, and a young man of about his own age entered.
Without being in the least ill-looking, there was something repellent
about the new comer. His eyes were shifty and too close together to be
trustworthy. Otherwise no fault could be found with his appearance.

"Well, Langdon, how are you?" his host asked, but there was no warmth
in his greeting.

"As well as a poor devil like me ever is," began Langdon obsequiously.
He sighed, looked about the comfortable room and finished with: "Lucky
dog."

Sanderson stood on no ceremony with his guest, who was a thoroughly
unscrupulous young man. Once or twice Langdon had helped Sanderson out
of scrapes that would have sent him home from college without his
degree, had they come to the ears of the faculty. In return for this
assistance, Sanderson had lent him large sums of money, which the owner
entertained no hopes of recovering. Sanderson tried to balance matters
by treating Langdon with scant ceremony when they were alone.