“Isn't it? Now, for instance, if I had only known you of late years, I should feel awfully shy of borrowing a few hundreds of you--for a month or two.” “I don't know why you should, old fellow.” “I should, though. But having been at college together makes all the difference. I don't mind telling you that I have never been at Homburg without taking a turn at the table, and I am grizzling awfully now at not having sent to my man of business for funds.” “How much do you want? That is the only question.” “Glad to hear it,” thought Severne. “Well, let me see, you can't back your luck with less than five hundred.” “Well, but we have been out two months; I am afraid I haven't so much left. Just let me see.” He took out his pocket-book, and examined his letter of credit. “Do you want it to-day?” “Why, yes; I do.” “Well, then, I am afraid you can only have three hundred. But I will telegraph Herries, and funds will be here to-morrow afternoon.” “All right,” said Severne. Vizard took him to the bank, and exhausted his letter of credit: then to the telegraph-office, and telegraphed Herries to enlarge his credit at once. He handed Severne the three hundred pounds. The young man's eye flashed, and it cost him an effort not to snatch them and wave them over his head with joy: but he controlled himself, and took them like two-pence-halfpenny. “Thank you, old fellow,” said he. Then, still more carelessly, “Like my I O U?” “As you please,” said Vizard, with similar indifference; only real. After he had got the money, Severne's conversational powers relaxed--short answers--long reveries. Vizard observed, stopped short, and eyed him. “I remember something at Oxford, and I am afraid you are a gambler; if you are, you won't be good for much till you have lost that three hundred. It will be a dull evening for me without you: I know what I'll do--I'll take my hen-party to the opera at Homburg. There are stalls to be got here. I'll get one for you, on the chance of your dropping in.” The stalls were purchased, and the friends returned at once to the hotel, to give the ladies timely intimation. They found Fanny and Zoe seated, rather disconsolate, in the apartment Zoe had formally renounced: at sight of the stall tickets, the pair uttered joyful cries, looked at each other, and vanished. “You won't see _them_ any more till dinner-time,” said Vizard. “They will be discussing dress, selecting dress, trying dresses, and changing dresses, for the next three hours.” He turned round while speaking, and there was Severne slipping away to his own bedroom. Thus deserted on all sides, he stepped into the balcony and lighted a cigar. While he was smoking it, he observed an English gentleman, with a stalwart figure and a beautiful brown beard, standing on the steps of the hotel. “Halloo!” said he, and hailed him. “Hi, Uxmoor! is that you?”