“Why, you don’t suppose--you don’t think that I--that Miss Desmond--that----” “You know those silversmiths on the Boulevards--no, you don’t know Paris, by the bye. Well, dear boy, there are Parisian silversmiths who make a great display in their shop windows by means of a concatenation of table-spoons and a strong flare of gas; but I doubt if in all Paris there was ever such a notorious case of spoons as the present; and I don’t blame you, my dear Tredethlyn. If I were not Alexander, I would be the other person. If I were not madly and hopelessly in love with blue-eyed Maude, I should fling myself at the feet of dark-eyed Julia: such teeth, and such a generally regal _tournure_, with thirty-thousand a-year, ought to make a sensation. Frank, I congratulate you! Bless you, my boy, and be happy!” Mr. Somerset wrung his friend’s hand with effusion. “But, my dear Somerset--but, upon my word and honour,” cried Mr. Tredethlyn, in extreme terror and perplexity, “Miss Desmond has been very kind to me; and feeling myself out of place here, I’ve been grateful for her kindness; but, as I am an honest man, not one word has ever passed between us upon any but the commonest subjects; and I am sure that neither she nor I have the slightest idea of----” “Oh, you haven’t, eh?” asked Montagu Somerset, taking his cigar from his mouth, and staring at it in a contemplative manner, as he knocked away the ash; “never mind about Miss Desmond; _you_ haven’t any idea of making her mistress of yourself and your property, real and personal, eh? You admire her very much, and are very grateful to her for being civil to you, and so on, but you have no idea of making her an offer of marriage?” “No more than I have of making you such an offer.” “Then in that case,” replied Mr. Somerset deliberately, “all I have to say is to this effect: look out for squalls; when you are coasting on a shore renowned for its quicksands, you’d better beware of any strange light you may see ahead, for the illumination generally means danger. When you meet with such a girl as the Desmond, don’t trifle with her. Of course it’s very pleasant to ride, and drive, and play billiards, and loiter through a summer month or so with a handsome girl, meaning nothing serious all the time; and it _is_ to be done with impunity, if you are careful in your selection of the young lady. But I don’t think Julia Desmond is exactly the sort of girl you should try it on with. There are men in our place, apoplectic old fogies in starched neckcloths and no end of waistcoat, who knew the Desmond’s father; he was a south-of-Ireland man and a notorious duellist. They say that Julia inherits his eyes and teeth.”