“I am not at all surprised; and when you go—which I suppose you will some day—what will most strike you is, that you will not see a single person you ever saw in your life.” “Strange!” “Yes; it shows what a mass of wealth and taste and refinement there is in this wonderful metropolis of ours, quite irrespective of the circles in which we move, and which we once thought entirely engrossed them.” After the ladies had retired, Bertram, who dined at the same house, moved up to him; and Hugo Bohun came over and took the vacant seat on his other side. “What have you been doing with yourself?” said Hugo. “We have not seen you for a week.” “I went down to Oxford about some horses,” said Lothair. “Fancy going down to Oxford about some horses in the heart of the season,” said Hugo. “I believe you are selling us, and that, as the Scorpion announces, you are going to be married.” “To whom?” said Lothair. “Ah! that is the point. It is a dark horse at present, and we want you to tell us.” “Why do not you marry, Hugo?” said Bertram. “I respect the institution,” said Hugo, “which is admitting something in these days; and I have always thought that every woman should marry, and no man.” “It makes a woman and it mars a man, you think?” said Lothair. “But I do not exactly see how your view would work practically,” said Bertram. “Well my view is a social problem,” said Hugo, “and social problems are the fashion at present. It would be solved through the exceptions, which prove the principle. In the first place, there are your swells who cannot avoid the halter—you are booked when you are born; and then there are moderate men like myself, who have their weak moments. I would not answer for myself if I could find an affectionate family with good shooting and first-rate claret.” “There must be many families with such conditions,” said Lothair. Hugo shook his head. “You try. Sometimes the wine is good and the shooting bad; sometimes the reverse; sometimes both are excellent, but then the tempers and the manners are equally bad.” “I vote we three do something to-morrow,” said Bertram. “What shall it be?” said Hugo. “I vote we row down to Richmond at sunset and dine, and then drive our teams up by moonlight. What say you, Lothair?” “I cannot, I am engaged. I am engaged to go to the opera.” “Fancy going to the opera in this sweltering weather!” exclaimed Bertram. “He must be going to be married,” said Hugo. And yet on the following evening, though the weather was quite as sultry and he was not going to be married, to the opera Lothair went. While the agreeable lady the day before was dilating at dinner on this once famous entertainment, Lothair remembered that a certain person went there every Saturday evening, and he resolved that he should at least have the satisfaction of seeing her.