“He’s so devilish good in the love scene,” said the junior ensign, with the white eyebrows.  “I say, Curzon, you’ll be confoundedly jealous though, for he is to play with Fanny.”

“I rather think not,” said Curzon, who was a little tipsy.

“Oh, yes,” said Frazer, “Hepton is right.  Lorrequer has Fanny for his ‘Frou;’ and, upon my soul, I should feel tempted to take the part myself upon the same terms; though I verily believe I should forget I was acting, and make fierce love to her on the stage.”

“And who may la charmante Fanny be?” said I, with something of the air of the “Dey of Algiers” in my tone.

“Let Curzon tell him,” said several voices together, “he is the only ma to do justice to such perfection.”

“Quiz away, my merry men,” said Cruzon, “all I know is, that you are a confoundedly envious set of fellows; and if so lovely a girl had thrown her eyes on one amongst you__”

“Hip! hip! hurrah!” said old Fitzgerald, “Curzon is a gone man.  He’ll be off to the palace for a license some fine morning, or I know nothing of such matters.”

“Well, Bat,” said I, “if matters are really as you all say, why does not Curzon take the part you destine for me?”

“We dare not trust him,” said the Major, “Lord bless you, when the call-boy would sing out for Captain Beaugarde in the second act, we’d find that he had Levanted with our best slashed trowsers, and a bird of paradise feather in his cap.”

“Well,” thought I, “this is better at least than I anticipated, for if nothing else offers, I shall have rare fun teasing my friend Charley” —­for it was evident that he had been caught by the lady in question.

“And so you’ll stay with us; give me your hand—­you are a real trump.”  These words, which proceeded from a voice at the lower end of the table, were addressed to my friend Finucane.

“I’ll stay with ye, upon my conscience,” said Fin; “ye have a most seductive way about ye; and a very superior taste in milk punch.”

“But, Doctor,” said I, “you must not be a drone in the hive; what will ye do for us?  You should be a capital Sir Lucius O’Trigger, if we could get up the Rivals.”

“My forte is the drum—­the big drum; put me among what the Greeks call the ‘Mousikoi,’ and I’ll astonish ye.”

It was at once agreed that Fin should follow the bent of his genius; and after some other arrangements for the rest of the party, we separated for the night, having previously toasted the “Fanny,” to which Curzon attempted to reply, but sank, overpowered by punch and feelings, and looked unutterable things, without the power to frame a sentence.