The fact is that Toole knew something of Miss Mag’s plans, as he did of most of the neighbours’ beside.  Old Slowe was, in certain preponderating respects, much to be preferred to the stalworth fireworker, Mr. Lieutenant O’Flaherty.  And the two gentlemen were upon her list.  Two strings to a bow is a time-honoured provision.  Cupid often goes so furnished.  If the first snap at the critical moment, should we bow-string our precious throttles with the pieces?  Far be it from us!  Let us waste no time in looking foolish; but pick up the gray-goose shaft that lies so innocently at our feet among the daisies; and it’s odds but the second plants it i’ the clout.’  The lover, the hero of the piece, upon whose requited passion and splendid settlements the curtain goes down, is a role not always safely to be confided to the genius and discretion of a single performer.  Take it that the captivating Frederick Belville, who is announced for the part, is, along with his other qualifications, his gallantry, his grace, his ringlets, his pathetic smile, his lustrous eyes, his plaintive tenor, and five-and-twenty years—­a little bit of a rip—­rather frail in the particular of brandy and water, and so, not quite reliable.  Will not the prudent manager provide a substitute respectably to fill the part, in the sad event of one of those sudden indispositions to which Belville is but too liable!  It may be somewhat ‘fat and scant of breath,’ ay, and scant of hair and of teeth too.  But though he has played Romeo thirty years ago, the perruquier, and the dentist, and the rouge-pot, and the friendly glare of the foot-lights will do wonders; and Podgers—­steady fellow!—­will be always at the right wing, at the right moment, know every line of his author, and contrive to give a very reasonable amount of satisfaction to all parties concerned.  Following this precedent, then, that wise virgin, Miss Magnolia, and her sagacious mamma, had allotted the role in question to Arthur Slowe, who was the better furnished for the part, and, on the whole, the stronger ‘cast.’  But failing him, Lieutenant O’Flaherty was quietly, but unconsciously, as the phrase is,’under-studying’ that somewhat uncertain gentleman.

‘And the general’s off to Scarborough,’ said Toole.

’Old Chattesworth!  I thought it was to Bath.

’Oh, no, Scarborough; a touch of the old rheum, and stomach I sent him there; and he’s away in the Hillsborough packet for Holyhead this morning, and Colonel Stafford’s left in command.’

‘And my Lady Becky Belmont’s superseded,’ laughed Miss Magnolia, derisively.

’And who do you think’s going to make the grand tour? from Paris to Naples, if you please, and from Naples to Rome, and up to Venice, and home through Germany, and deuce knows where beside; you’ll not guess in a twel’month,’ said Toole, watching her with a chuckle.

‘Devereux, maybe,’ guessed the young lady.

’No ‘tisn’t,’ said Toole, delighted; ‘try again!’