My first thought was poor Curzon; my second, happy and trice fortunate Harry Lorrequer.  There was no time, however, for indulgence in such very pardonable gratulation; so I at once proceeded “pour faire l’aimable,” to profess my utter inability to do justice to her undoubted talents, but slyly added, “that in the love making part of the matter she should never be able to discover that I was not in earnest.”  We chatted then gaily for upwards of an hour, until the arrival of her friend’s carriage was announced, when, tendering me most graciously her hand, she smiled benignly and saying “au revoir, donc,” drove off.

As I stood upon the steps of the hotel, viewing her “out of the visible horizon,” I was joined by Curzon, who evidently, from his self-satisfied air, and jaunty gait, little knew how he stood in the fair Fanny’s estimation.

“Very pretty, very pretty, indeed, deeper and deeper still,” cried he, alluding to my most courteous salutation as the carriage rounded the corner, and it lovely occupant kissed her hand once more.  “I say Harry, my friend, you don’t think that was meant for you, I should hope?”

“What! the kiss of the hand?  Yes, faith, but I do.”

“Well, certainly that is good! why, man, she just saw me coming up that instant.  She and I—­we understand each other—­never mind, don’t be cross—­no fault of yours, you know.”

“Ah, so she is taken with you,” said I.  “Eh, Charley?”

“Why, I believe that.  I may confess to you the real state of matters.  She was devilishly struck with me the first time we rehearsed together.  We soon got up a little flirtation; but the other night when I played Mirabel to her, it finished the affair.  She was quite nervous, and could scarcely go through with her part.  I saw it, and upon my soul I am sorry for it; she’s a prodigiously fine girl—­such lips and such teeth!  Egad I was delighted when you came; for, you see, I was in a manner obliged to take one line of character, and I saw pretty plainly where it must end; and you know with you it’s quite different, she’ll laugh and chat, and all that sort of thing, but she’ll not be carried away by her feelings; you understand me?”

“Oh, perfectly; it’s quite different, as you observed.”

If I had not been supported internally during this short dialogue by the recently expressed opinion of the dear Fanny herself upon my friend Curzon’s merits, I think I should have been tempted to take the liberty of wringing his neck off.  However, the affair was much better as it stood, as I had only to wait a little with proper patience, and I had no fears but that my friend Charley would become the hero of a very pretty episode for the mess.

“So I suppose you must feel considerably bored by this kind of thing,” I said, endeavouring to draw him out.

“Why, I do,” replied he, “and I do not.  The girl is very pretty.  The place is dull in the morning; and altogether it helps to fill up time.”