Lacquers made up his mind that he would marry Blanche Kettering without a sixpence. The young lady’s consent he rather prematurely counted on as a matter of course, but in making this resolution he deserves some credit for the readiness with which he was prepared to sacrifice all that to him was precious in life, at the feet of his lady-love. He was a younger brother, and, it is needless to add, considerably involved--of course he must bid farewell to all those amusements and pursuits which have hitherto constituted his actual existence. No more Derbys and Hamptons, and Richmond breakfasts, and Greenwich dinners, all vanities enticing enough in their way--no more stalls at the opera, and supper-parties in the suburbs, likewise vanities of a more dangerous tendency--no more hunting in Leicestershire and deer-stalking in Scotland, yachting at Cowes and philandering at Paris--all these must be given up; and worse than all, the profession he delights in, the regiment he is devoted to, must be offered at the shrine of domestic respectability. That these would be privations no man could feel more keenly than Lacquers, yet was he prepared to go through with it, and had it been necessary, we firmly believe he would have cut off his very moustaches and laid them at the feet of Blanche Kettering! Therefore it was that he appeared on the evening in question at Lady Mount Helicon’s ball; therefore it was that his manner had assumed a softness and diffidence which made Blanche confess to herself, as she leaned on his arm in the intervals of the dance, that he was “really very much improved”; and therefore it was that he suggested the old excuse of “looking at the flowers in the conservatory,” and skilfully availing himself of a general rush down-stairs connected with supper, managed to entice his partner into a secluded corner of that love-making retreat, which had indeed been already occupied by several pairs for the same purpose, and having furnished her with a cup of tea, and himself with an ice to keep them both quiet, he entered with much circumlocution on one of those embarrassing interviews such as, we are quite sure, no lady who condescends to glance over these pages but must have experienced at least _once_ before she had been out two seasons. “That’s a case,” said Mrs. Blacklamb, as she swept down to supper on Lord Mount Helicon’s arm, her dark, haughty features writhing with something between a smile and a sneer, while she caught a glimpse of Blanche’s well-cut profile, and one of Lacquers’s faultless boots in a mirror opposite their retreat. “Will it _be_, do you think?” she added with a softening expression, for all women warm towards a love-affair, and even Mrs. Blacklamb, with her many faults, was a very woman, perhaps rather too much so, in her heart of hearts.