"It isn't I, my dear; it's Mr Rubb and Mr Maguire, between them. One says he has thrown off all decorum and the other declares himself to be a mass of iniquity. What are two poor old ladies like you and I to do in such company?" Miss Mackenzie, when she heard Mr Maguire declare himself to be a running sore, was even more angry with him than with Mr Rubb. He, at any rate, should have known better. After all, was not Mr Ball better than either of them, though his head was bald and his face worn with that solemn, sad look of care which always pervaded him? In the course of the evening she found herself seated apart from the general company, with Mr Maguire beside her. The eye that did not squint was towards her, and he made an effort to be agreeable to her that was not altogether ineffectual. "Does not society sometimes make you very sad?" he said. Society had made her sad to-night, and she answered him in the affirmative. "It seems that people are so little desirous to make other people happy," she replied. "It was just that idea that was passing through my own mind. Men and women are anxious to give you the best they have, but it is in order that you may admire their wealth or their taste; and they strive to be witty, amusing, and sarcastic! but that, again, is for the eclat they are to gain. How few really struggle to make those around them comfortable!" "It comes, I suppose, from people having such different tastes," said Miss Mackenzie, who, on looking round the room, thought that the people assembled there were peculiarly ill-assorted. "As for happiness," continued Mr Maguire, "that is not to be looked for from society. They who expect their social hours to be happy hours will be grievously disappointed." "Are you not happy at Mrs Stumfold's?" "At Mrs Stumfold's? Yes;--sometimes, that is; but even there I always seem to want something. Miss Mackenzie, has it never occurred to you that the one thing necessary in this life, the one thing--beyond a hope for the next, you know, the one thing is--ah, Miss Mackenzie, what is it?" "Perhaps you mean a competence," said Miss Mackenzie. "I mean some one to love," said Mr Maguire. As he spoke he looked with all the poetic vigour of his better eye full into Miss Mackenzie's face, and Miss Mackenzie, who then could see nothing of the other eye, felt the effect of the glance somewhat as he intended that she should feel it. When a lady who is thinking about getting married is asked by a gentleman who is frequently in her thoughts whether she does not want some one to love, it is natural that she should presume that he means to be particular; and it is natural also that she should be in some sort gratified by that particularity. Miss Mackenzie was, I think, gratified, but she did not express any such feeling. "Is not that your idea also?" said he,--"some one to love; is not that the great desideratum here below!" And the tone in which he repeated the last words was by no means ineffective.