He was loving enough, and very susceptible.  He was too susceptible, and he knew his own fault, and he was always on guard against it,—­as behooved a young man with such duties as his.  He was always falling in love, and then using his diplomatic skill in avoiding the consequences.  He had found out that though one girl had looked so well under waxlight she did not endure the wear and tear of the day.  Another could not be always graceful, or, though she could talk well enough during a waltz, she had nothing to say for herself at three o’clock in the morning.  And he was driven to calculate that he would be wrong to marry a girl without a shilling.  “It is a kind of thing that a man cannot afford to do unless he’s sure of his position,” he had said on such an occasion to Montgomery Arbuthnot, alluding especially to his brother’s state of health.  When Mr. Anderson spoke of not being sure of his position he was always considered to allude to his brother’s health.  In this way he had nearly got his little boat on to the rocks more than once, and had given some trouble to Sir Magnus.  But now he was quite sure.  “It’s all there all round,” he had said to Arbuthnot more than once.  Arbuthnot said that it was there—­“all round, all round.”  Waxlight and daylight made no difference to her.  She was always graceful.  “Nobody with an eye in his head can doubt that,” said Anderson.  “I should think not, by Jove!” replied Arbuthnot.  “And for talking,—­you never catch her out; never.”  “I never did, certainly,” said Arbuthnot, who, as third secretary, was obedient and kind-hearted.  “And then look at her money.  Of course a fellow wants something to help him on.  My position is so uncertain that I cannot do without it.”  “Of course not.”  “Now, with some girls it’s so deuced hard to find out.  You hear that a girl has got money, but when the time comes it depends on the life of a father who doesn’t think of dying;—­damme, doesn’t think of it.”

“Those fellows never do,” said Arbuthnot.  “But here, you see, I know all about it.  When she’s twenty-four,—­only twenty-four,—­she’ll have ten thousand pounds of her own.  I hate a mercenary fellow.”  “Oh yes; that’s beastly.”  “Nobody can say that of me.  Circumstanced as I am, I want something to help to keep the pot boiling.  She has got it,—­quite as much as I want,—­quite, and I know all about it without the slightest doubt in the world.”  For the small loan of fifteen hundred pounds Sir Magnus paid the full value of the interest and deficient security.  “Sir Magnus tells me that if I’ll only stick to her I shall be sure to win.  There’s some fellow in England has just touched her heart,—­just touched it, you know.”  “I understand,” said Arbuthnot, looking very wise.  “He is not a fellow of very much account,” said Anderson; “one of those handsome fellows without conduct and without courage.”  “I’ve known lots of ’em,” said Arbuthnot.  “His name is Annesley,” said Anderson.  “I never saw him in my life,