In truth, these meditations had so frequently occupied the young gentleman’s mind, that there began to be actually some talk on the subject among the friends of the parties. These thoughts were by some fatality passing in his mind while he was waiting for the arrival of the hour for which his engagement was made; and by a very singular coincidence he was reminded of Miss Celestina: for while he was wishing the time to move more rapidly, there entered into the coffee-room two young gentlemen, who very noisily manifested their importance. They lounged up to the table on which the papers were lying, and each helped himself to one; then they sat down at separate and distant tables, each spreading his paper before him, and lolling with his elbows on the table, and his feet stretched out to the widest possible extent, as if begging to have his toes trod on; and they ever and anon laughed aloud, and called out the one to the other at any piece of intelligence which excited their astonishment, or gave occasion to witty remark. Among other announcements which they thus communicated to each other, was a short paragraph in the fashionable intelligence which had altogether escaped the notice of Philip Martindale; and as its announcement was preceded by a very loud laugh, his attention was especially drawn to it, and it was as follows: “It is currently reported that the Hon. Philip Martindale of Brigland Abbey, eldest son of Lord Martindale, is about to lead to the hymeneal altar the accomplished and beautiful daughter and heiress of Sir Gilbert Sampson.” “There, Smart,” said the reader of the above paragraph, “you have lost your chance for ever. What a pity it is you did not make a better use of your time. By the way, do you know any thing of the Hon. Philip Martindale?” “I know nothing about him, except that I have been told he is one of the proudest men that ever lived; and I can never suppose that he would condescend to marry the daughter of a soap-boiler.” “There is no answering for that,” responded the other; “necessity has no law. Brigland Abbey cannot be kept up for a trifle; and if I am not misinformed, this same Philip Martindale has been rather hard run on settling-days.”