George looked, raised his hat with sufficient politeness, and remarked to me: “Hang it, one sees those people everywhere.” I am not easily surprised, but I confess I turned to George with an expression of wonder. “A fortnight ago--” I began. “Don’t be an ass, Sam,” said George, rather sharply. “She’s not a bad girl, but--” He broke off and began to whistle. There was a long pause. I lit a cigar, and looked at the people. “I lunched at the Micklehams’ today,” said George, drawing a figure on the gravel with his cane. “Mickleham’s not a bad fellow.” “One of the best fellows alive,” I agreed. “I wonder why she married him, though,” mused George; and he added, with apparent irrelevance, “It’s a dashed bore, going up.” And then a smile spread over his face; a blush accompanied it, and proclaimed George’s sense of delicious wickedness. I turned on him. “Out with it!” I said. “It’s nothing. Don’t be a fool,” said George. “Where did you get that rose?” I asked. “This rose?” he repeated, fondling the blossom. “It was given to me.” Upon this I groaned--and I still consider that I had good reason for my action. It was the groan of a moralist. “They’ve asked me to stay at The Towers next vac.,” said George, glancing at me out of the corner of an immoral eye. Perhaps he thought it too immoral, for he added, “It’s all right, Sam.” I believe that I have as much self control as most people, but at this point I chuckled. “What the deuce are you laughing at?” asked George. I made no answer, and he went on-- “You never told me what a--what she was like, Sam. Wanted to keep it to yourself, you old dog.” “George--George--George!” said I. “You go up tomorrow?” “Yes, confound it!” “And term lasts two months?” “Yes, hang it!” “All is well,” said I, crossing my legs. “There is more virtue in two months than in Ten Commandments.” George regarded me with a dispassionate air. “You’re an awful ass sometimes,” he observed critically, and he rose from his seat. “Must you go?” said I. “Yes--got a lot of things to do. Look here, Sam, don’t go and talk about--” “Talk about what?” “Anything, you old idiot,” said George, with a pleased smile, and he dug me in the ribs with his cane, and departed. I sat on, admiring the simple elements which constitute the happiness of the young. Alas! With advancing years, Wrong loses half its flavor! To be improper ceases, by itself, to satisfy. Immersed in these reflections, I failed to notice that a barouche had stopped opposite to me; and suddenly I found a footman addressing me. “Beg your pardon, sir,” he said. “Her ladyship wishes to speak to you.” “It is a blessed thing to be young, Martin,” I observed. “Yes, sir,” said Martin. “It’s a fine day, sir.” “But very short,” said I. Martin is respectful, and said nothing--to me, at least. What he said to the coachman, I don’t know. And then I went up to Dolly. “Get in and drive round,” suggested Dolly. “I can’t,” said I. “I have a bad nose.”