‘I hope they are not my friends.’

’Oh yes they are.  Think of Glasslough, or Popplecourt, or Hindes!  If they knew anything about you that you didn’t want to have known,—­about a young lady or anything of that kind,—­don’t you think they’d tell everybody?’

‘A man can’t tell anything he doesn’t know.’

’That’s true.  I had thought of that myself.  But then there’s a particular reason for my telling you this.  It is about a young lady!  You won’t tell; will you?’

’No, I won’t.  But I can’t see why on earth you should come to me.  You are ever so many years older than I am.’

’I had thought of that too.  But you are just the person I must tell.  I want you to help me.’

These last words were said almost in a whisper, and Dolly as he said them had drawn nearer to his friend.  Silverbridge remained in suspense, saying nothing by way of encouragement.  Dolly, either in love with his own mystery or doubtful of his own purpose, sat still, looking eagerly at his companion.  ’What the mischief is it?’ asked Silverbridge impatiently.

‘I have quite made up my own mind.’

‘That’s a good thing at any rate.’

‘I am not what you would have called a marrying sort of man.’

’I should have said,—­no.  But I suppose most men do marry sooner or later.’

’That’s just what I said to myself.  It has to be done, you know.  There are three different properties coming to me.  At least one has come already.’

‘You’re a lucky fellow.’

‘I’ve made up my mind; and when I say a thing I mean to do it.’

‘But what can I do?’

’That’s just what I’m coming to.  If a man does marry I think he ought to be attached to her.’  To this, a broad proposition, Silverbridge was ready to accede.  But, regarding Dolly, a middle-aged sort of fellow, one of those men who marry because it is convenient to have a house kept for them, he simply nodded his head.  ‘I am awfully attached to her,’ Dolly went on to say.

‘That’s all right.’

’Of course there are fellows who marry girls for their money.  I’ve known men who had married their grandmothers.’

‘Not really!’

’That kind of thing.  When a woman is old it does not much matter who she is.  But my one!  She’s not old!’

‘Nor rich?’

’Well;—­I don’t know about that.  But I’m not after her money.  Pray understand that.  It’s because I’m downright fond of her.  She’s an American.’

‘A what!’ said Silverbridge, startled.

’You know her.  That’s the reason I’ve come to you.  It’s Miss Boncassen.’  A dark frown came across the young man’s face.  That all this should be said to him was disgusting.  That an owl like that should dare to talk of loving Miss Boncassen was offensive to him.