The observation seemed to have some effect in rousing him from his lethargy, and he added—­

“If you only knew the nature of the attachment, and how completely all my future hopes are concerned upon the issue—­”

“Ho!” said I, “so it’s a money affair, is it? and is it old Watson has issued the writ?  I’ll bet a hundred.”

“Well, upon my soul, Lorrequer,” said he, jumping from his chair, and speaking with more energy than he had before evinced, “you are, without exception, the most worldly-minded, cold-blooded fellow I ever met.  What have I said that could have led you to suppose I had either a duel or a law-suit upon my hands this morning?  Learn, once and for all, man, that I am in love—­desperately and over head and ears in love.”

“Et puis,” said I coolly.

“And intend to marry immediately.”

“Oh, very well,” said I; “the fighting and debt will come later, that’s all.  But to return—­now for the lady.”

“Come, you must make a guess.”

“Why, then, I really must confess my utter inability; for your attentions have been so generally and impartially distributed since our arrival here, that it may be any fair one, from your venerable partner at whist last evening, to Mrs. Henderson, the pastry-cook inclusive, for whose macaroni and cherry-brandy your feelings have been as warm as they are constant.”

“Come, no more quizzing, Hal.  You surely must have remarked that lovely girl I waltzed with at Power’s ball on Tuesday last.”

“Lovely girl!  Why, in all seriousness, you don’t mean the small woman with the tow wig?”

“No, I do not mean any such thing—­but a beautiful creature, with the brightest locks in Christendom—­the very light-brown waving ringlets, Dominicheno loved to paint, and a foot—­did you see her foot?”

“No; that was rather difficult, for she kept continually bobbing up and down, like a boy’s cork-float in a fish-pond.”

“Stop there.  I shall not permit this any longer—­I came not here to listen to—­”

“But, Curzon, my boy, you’re not angry?”

“Yes, sir, I am angry.”

“Why, surely, you have not been serious all this time?”

“And why not, pray?”

“Oh!  I don’t exactly know—­that is, faith I scarcely thought you were in earnest, for if I did, of course I should honestly have confessed to you that the lady in question struck me as one of the handsomest persons I ever met.”

“You think so really, Hal?”

“Certainly I do, and the opinion is not mine alone; she is, in fact universally admired.”

“Come, Harry, excuse my bad temper.  I ought to have known you better —­give me your hand, old boy, and wish me joy, for with you aiding and abetting she is mine to-morrow morning.”

I wrung his hand heartily—­congratulating myself, meanwhile, how happily I had got out of my scrape; as I now, for the first time, perceived that Curzon was bona fide in earnest.