“You’re sure,” said I soothingly, “to meet her somewhere in the course of the next few weeks.” George looked at me. Then he observed with a bitter laugh: “It’s pretty evident you’ve never had it. You’re as bad as those chaps who write books.” “Well, but surely they often describe with sufficient warmth and--er--color--” “Oh, I dare say; but it’s all wrong. At least, it’s not what I feel. Then look at the girls in books! All beasts!” George spoke with much vehemence; so that I was led to say: “The lady you are preoccupied with is, I suppose, handsome?” George turned swiftly round on me. “Look here, can you hold your tongue, Sam?” I nodded. “Then I’m hanged if I won’t point her out to you?” “That’s uncommon good of you, George,” said I. “Then you’ll see,” continued George. “But it’s not only her looks, you know, she’s the most--” He stopped. Looking round to see why, I observed that his face was red; he clutched his walking stick tightly in his left hand; his right hand was trembling, as if it wanted to jump up to his hat. “Here she comes! Look, look!” he whispered. Directing my eyes towards the lines of carriages which rolled past us, I observed a girl in a victoria; by her side sat a portly lady of middle age. The girl was decidedly like the lady; a description of the lady would not, I imagine, be interesting. The girl blushed slightly and bowed. George and I lifted our hats. The victoria and its occupants were gone. George leant back with a sigh. After a moment, he said: “Well, that was her.” There was expectancy in his tone. “She has an extremely prepossessing appearance,” I observed. “There isn’t,” said George, “a girl in London to touch her. Sam, old boy, I believe--I believe she likes me a bit.” “I’m sure she must, George,” said I; and indeed, I thought so. “The Governor’s infernally unreasonable,” said George, fretfully. “Oh, you’ve mentioned it to him?” “I sounded him. Oh, you may be sure he didn’t see what I was up to. I put it quite generally. He talked rot about getting on in the world. Who wants to get on?” “Who, indeed?” said I. “It is only changing what you are for something no better.” “And about waiting till I know my own mind. Isn’t it enough to look at her?” “Ample, in my opinion,” said I. George rose to his feet. “They’ve gone to a party, they won’t come round again,” said he. “We may as well go, mayn’t we?” I was very comfortable, so I said timidly: “We might see somebody else we know.” “Oh, somebody else be hanged! Who wants to see em?” “I’m sure I don’t.” said I hastily, as I rose from my armchair, which was at once snapped up. We were about to return to the club, when I observed Lady Mickleham’s barouche standing under the trees. I invited George to come and be introduced. He displayed great indifference. “She gives a good many parties,” said I; “and perhaps--” “By Jove! Yes, I may as well,” said George. “Glad you had the sense to think of that, old man.”