It was a lovely afternoon in May.  All the world were returning to town.  Georgiana Gray had just forsaken Harrowgate and its waters, to participate in the thickening gaieties of the metropolis.  Augustus Peacock had abandoned the moors of Scotland for the beauties of Almack’s; and Julius Candy had hastened from the banks of the Wye for the fascinations of Taglioni and the Opera.

The first object of Augustus on returning to town was to hasten and pay his devoirs to his intended.  With this intent he proceeded to the mansion of Georgiana, and was ushered into the drawing-room, with the assurance that the lady would be with him immediately.  The servant, however, had no sooner quitted the apartment than Mr. Candy, actuated by a similar motive, knocked at the door, and was speedily conducted into the presence of his rival.

The two gentlemen, being mutually ignorant of the person of the other, bowed with all the formality usual to a first introduction.

“Fine day, sir,” said Augustus Peacock, after a short pause, little aware that he was holding communion with his rival.

“It is—­very fine, sir,” returned Julius Candy with a smile, which, had he been conscious of the person he was addressing, would instantly have been converted into a most contemptuous sneer.

“Have you had the pleasure of seeing Miss Gray, sir, since her return from Harrowgate?” inquired Augustus, with the soft civility of a man of fashion.

“No,—­I have not yet had that honour, sir; no,”—­replied Julius, with a slight inclination of his body.

“Charming girl, sir,” remarked Mr. Peacock.

“Fascinating creature,” responded Mr. Candy.

“Did you ever see such eyes, sir?” continued Mr. P.

“Never! ’pon my honour! never!”—­exclaimed Julius, in a tone of moderate enthusiasm.  “You may call them eyes, sir,” and here he elevated his own.

“And what lips?”

“Positively provoking!”

“Ah, sir!” languishingly remarked Augustus, “he will be a happy may who gets possession of such a treasure!”

“He will, indeed, sir,” returned his unknown rival, with an air of self-satisfaction, as if he believed that happiness was likely to be his own.

“You are aware, I suppose, sir,” proceeded the communicative Mr. Peacock, “that there is a certain party whom Miss Gray looks upon with particular favour”—­and the gentleman, to give peculiar emphasis to the remark, slightly elevated his cravat.

“I should think I ought to be”—­pointedly returned Mr. C.—­simpering somewhat diffidently at the idea that the observation was levelled at himself.

The two rivals looked at each other, tittered, and bowed.

“Ah! yes—­I dare say—­observed it, no doubt!” said Augustus, when his emotion had subsided.

“Why, yes—­I should have been blind indeed could I have failed to remark it,” responded Julius.