"Not I; I won't chaff you, Harry," said the other, quietly. "'Pon my soul I should miss you, for you and I have been very jolly together; but I wouldn't wish you a better fate than to have won some really sweet, lovable girl. It's a fate that never can be mine, as the song says, and I won't be envious of others. Come along." "No, no, don't let's go, old fellow. They'll only drive as far as the corner, and then come back on this side. Perhaps they'll stop to speak. If they do, I'll introduce you to Julia; she's a very nice girl." "But not so nice as, as--" "Cynthia," said the other, innocently. "No: of course not." Magnus burst out laughing, and his friend looked at him inquiringly. "I could not help it, old fellow," exclaimed Magnus; "you did seem so innocent over it. But never mind that. Plunge head foremost into the sweetest life idyll you can, and, worldly-minded old sinner as I am, I will only respect you the more." He spoke so sincerely, and in such a feeling tone, that the younger man half turned and gazed at him, saying directly after-- "Thank you, old fellow; I'm not demonstrative, so just consider that I have given you a hearty grip of the hand." "All right," was the gruff reply. "Hallo! here comes my brigand. By Jove, he's a fine-looking specimen of the _genus homo_. He's six feet two, if he's an inch." Jock Morrison, who seemed at home beneath the trees, came slouching along with his hands deep in his pockets, with a rolling gait, the whole of one side at a time; there was an end of his loose cotton neckerchief between his teeth, and a peculiar satisfied smile in his eye which changed to a scowl of defiance as he saw that he was observed. "I say, my man," said Magnus, "would you give me a sitting, if I paid you?" "Would I give you what?" growled the fellow. "I don't let out cheers." Before Magnus could explain himself, the man had turned impatiently away, and gone on towards Kensington Gardens. "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Artingale. "Our friend is not a model in any way. Have a cigarette, old fellow?" The artist took one, and they stood smoking for a few minutes, till Artingale, who had been watchfully looking in the direction of the Achilles statue, suddenly threw down his half-smoked cigarette, for the Mallow carriage came into sight, and, as the young man had hoped, a voice cried "stop!" and the coachman drew up by the rails. "Ah, Harry!" cried Cynthia, leaning forward to shake hands, and looking very bright and charming in the new floral bonnet that had caused her such anxiety that morning; "I didn't know you had come up to town." "Didn't you," he replied, earnestly. "I knew you had. I went over to the rectory yesterday, and saw your brothers." "Oh, Harry!" cried Cynthia, blushing with pleasure.