“Folson said very little about the damage you got in the row,” the _attaché_ answered, very coolly; “but he told me you must drop your liberal consumption of that sort of thing, or you’d find yourself very speedily in Queer Street.” Mr. Lowther pointed to the smoke-coloured bottle as he thus addressed himself to his invalid brother. “While you were teaching that fellow Tredethlyn to drink himself to death, you ought to have learnt how to keep yourself alive by not drinking,” he said presently. “However, I don’t want to say anything unpleasant, but you really must cut your very intimate acquaintance with the brandy-bottle, if you want to improve your opportunity, now that Mrs. Tredethlyn is a rich widow. If you don’t look sharp I shall throw over the Grunderson, and go in against you.” Harcourt smiled superciliously. “I am not afraid of _you_, for more reasons than one,” he said. “Maude is a curious girl. I sometimes fancy my own chance is not quite so good as it once was. Goethe says that a man wins in his age the prize he sighs for in his youth. Perhaps, when I am a pottering old fellow of seventy, I shall have a great fortune and a handsome wife; only the capability of caring much for either will be gone. How fond we were of toffee at Harrow! But all the toffee that was ever manufactured in Doncaster during the Sellenger week wouldn’t give me a ray of pleasure now. Madame de Maintenon began to enjoy herself when she was eighty; rather late in the day, wasn’t it? My soul is weary, Roderick; and now the chance _has_ come, I’m not the man I was. Perhaps, after all, the simple truth of the matter is that I am suffering from an attack of blue devils, engendered of solitary confinement in this detestable crib. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, old fellow. As the ugly scar across my forehead has dwindled into a romantic-looking badge of bygone prowess, and the variegated hues of my countenance are rapidly fading into an interesting pallor, I’ll get you to send me round a hack from Parsons’s, and I’ll take a spin in the Park; there won’t be many people about at this time of year, and the fresh air will blow my old self back again, I dare say. I’ll meet you at the Metropolitan afterwards, if you like,” added Harcourt, naming an adjacent restaurant at which the brothers had been wont to dine occasionally. “No, thanks. I dine at the Grundersons’.” “_Déjà!_ We go fast, my friend!”