“Why, that depends,” said his confidant; “of course you’ll be a great loss, and all that; break so many hearts too; but then, think--the duty you owe your country. The breed of such men must not be allowed to become extinct. No; I should say you ought to make the sacrifice.” Lacquers looked immensely comforted, and went on--“Well, I’ve made arrangements--that’s to say, I’ve ordered some of the things--dressing-case, set of phaeton-harness, large chest of cigars--but, of course, it’s no use getting everything till it’s all settled. Now, _you_ know, Mount, I’m a deuced domestic fellow, likely to make a girl happy. I’m not one of your tearing dogs that require constant excitement; I could live in the country quite contentedly part of the year. I’ve got resources within myself--I’m fond of hunting and shooting and--no, I can’t stand fishing, but still, don’t you think I’m just the man to settle?” “Certainly; it’s all you’re fit for,” replied his friend. “Well, now to the point. I’ve not asked the girl yet, you know, but I don’t anticipate much difficulty there,” and the suitor smoothed his moustaches with a self-satisfied smile; “but, of course, the relations will make a bother about settlements, ‘love light as air,’ you know, and ‘human flies,’ and that; still we must provide for everything. Well, _my_ lawyer informs me that I can’t settle anything during my brother’s lifetime, and he’s just a year older than myself--that’s what I call ‘a stopper.’ Now, Mount, you’re a sharp fellow--man of intellect, you know--’gad, I wouldn’t give a pin for a fellow without brains--what do you advise me to do?” This was rather a poser, even for a gentleman of Lord Mount Helicon’s fertile resources; but he was never long at a loss, so as he took off his hat to a very pretty woman in a barouche, he replied, in his off-hand way, “Do? why, elope, my good fellow--run away with her--carry her off like a Sabine bride, only let her take all her clothes with her--save you a _trousseau_. Has she money?” “Plenty, I fancy; from what I hear, I should think Miss Kettering can’t have less than----” “The devil!” interrupted Lord Mount Helicon, in a tone that would have made most men start. “You don’t mean to say _you_ want to marry Miss Kettering?” “Well, I think _she_ wants to marry _me_,” rejoined Lacquers, perfectly unmoved; “and you know one can’t refuse a lady; but it’s only fair to say she hasn’t actually _asked_ me.”