When George Wainwright returned, alone, he found Paul, who had lighted a cigar, walking up and down the room, his hands plunged in his pockets, his chin down upon his chest. George went up to him, and putting his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said: "What brought you down here to-night, young 'un? The last rats must have deserted the sinking ship of Fashion and Season when you clear out of it to come down to Diogenes in his tub. Not but that I'm delighted to see you; all I want to know is why?" "I was nervous and restless, George; a little tired of fools and frippery, and--and myself. I wanted you to blow a little of the ozone of common sense into me, you know!" "Oh yes, I know," said George Wainwright; but he uttered the words in such deep solemn tones that Paul turned upon him suddenly, saying: "You know? Well, what do you know?" "I know why you could not play tennis, or come to the Oval, or walk to Hendon with me yesterday afternoon." "The deuce you do! And why?" "For a very sufficient reason to a young fellow of five-and-twenty!" said George, with a rather melancholy grin. "Look here, Paul; I don't think you'll imagine I'm a spy, or a meddling, impertinent busybody, and I'm sure you'll believe it was by the merest accident that I was crossing Kensington Gardens last evening, and there saw a friend of mine in deep conversation with a very handsome young lady." "The deuce you did!" cried Paul, turning very red. "What then?" "Ah!" said George, filling his pipe, "that's exactly the point--what then?" "What a provoking old beggar you are! Why do you echo me? Why don't you go on?" "It's for you to go on, my boy! What are your relations--or what are they to be--with this handsome girl?" "She is handsome, is she not?" "Beautiful!" "'Gad! she must be to strike fire out of an old flint like you, George!" cried Paul. "What are my relations with her? Strictly proper, I give you my word." "And you intend to marry her?" "How the man jumps at an idea! Well, no; I don't know at all that I intend that." "Not the--the other thing, Paul? No; you're, to say the least of it, too much of a gentleman. You don't intend that." "I don't intend anything, I tell you. Can't a man talk to a pretty girl without 'intention'?" "I don't know, Paul. I'm quite incompetent to pronounce any opinion on such matters; only--only see here: I look on you as on a younger brother, and, prompted by my regard for you, I may say many things which you may dislike." "Well, say away, old George; you won't offend me." "Well, then, if this is a good honest girl, and you don't intend to marry her, you ought not to be meeting her, and walking with her, and leading her to believe that she will attain to a position through you which she never would otherwise; and if she isn't an honest girl you ought never to have spoken to her." Paul Derinzy laughed, the quiet easy chuckle of a man of the world, as he replied to his simple senior: