Billy Dulger had seen so many generations of such lovers come and go, more or less voluntarily, that he began to feel a pre-emptive, prescriptive, or squatter sovereign right to the premises; for there were premises, as well as a person--a house where one might willingly hang his hat. Miss Milly was an orphan and had a house--nay, many houses--of her own. Her lover was proceeding in the established manner of courtship by regular approaches and steady siege. It generally succeeds, this method, and is, after all, easier to the dangling man of no genius and safer than the bold assault of a hardy forlorn hope. So many campaigns--such constant cannonade of bouquets with great occasional bombardment of flower-baskets--missives proposing truce--shams of raising the siege--showers of Congreve rockets in the form of cornucopias of bonbons--parleys of no actual consequence effected by sympathising allies--cautious spying with lorgnette, followed by assault upon opera box--watchful pouncings when the garrison sallies forth for stores--patience, pertinacity, and final success: this was Mr. Dulger’s game. It was, however, no sport to him. It cannot be sweet for a man to be forever in the presence of a woman he loves or wants, he playing the triangle while a _gran’ maestro_ is leading at the apex of the orchestra. He cannot enjoy hearing her applaud another man for saying things he cannot possibly think of and does not quite understand. Billy, therefore, was not happy in his courtship. He knew his love was a flirt, and not particularly charming, except that she made a business of being so. But it had become with him a vice to love her, if such is love. Should he ever succeed, after his ages of suspensory dangling, he will not be brilliantly happy. This is experience which he will remember, and though a well-enough intentioned man, he will necessarily avenge with marital severities his ante-nuptial pains. Have we dallied too long with Miss Milly and Master William? They are essentials in this history, and, though casually as it would seem, yet on them depends its event. As Mr. Waddy turned after booking himself at the Millard, he found his hand suddenly seized by Mr. De Flournoy Budlong. The bloom on this gentleman’s cheeks had jaundiced to autumnal hues. His smooth, round, jolly face had shrunken and was veined with dry wrinkles like a frozen apple. Poor Bud, flowering no longer, seediness was overcoming him, to no one’s special wonder who saw the principal female of his family conducting herself very much indeed, and watched young Tim subscribing every night.