Throughout our brief stay, O’Hagan’s treatment of the girl was worthy of the days of chivalry. Never, for a moment, did he presume upon that superiority of blood which is so real in his eyes, nor upon the service he had done this newsagent’s daughter. When we took our leave he kissed her hand in his astonishing, cavalierly way, tactfully ignoring her sweet confusion, clapped her father patronisingly upon the back—and swung out of the shop, a gentleman full three hundred years behind his time—the only living being who has recovered the Grand Manner. You would like to meet my friend O’Hagan. EXPLOIT THE SECOND. HE CLEARS THE COURSE FOR TRUE LOVE. EXPLOIT THE SECOND. HE CLEARS THE COURSE FOR TRUE LOVE. I. THE GLOOMY CAVALIER. That class distinctions should be marked by insuperable barriers is a theory that amounts to a religion with O’Hagan. The _caste_ system of India is delightful to his exclusiveness. I think, between patricians and plebeians, he would like to erect a series of stone hedges. To the voice of Democracy he is deaf, and would have a governing body selected from the oldest families in the kingdom. “To-day,” he will declare, “there are many gentlemen externally indistinguishable from grocers’ assistants. I know dukes who look like head waiters, and head waiters who look like earls.” He throws back the folds of his astonishing satin-lined cloak, more fully to reveal its inner splendour. “I, myself,” he confides, “have been mistaken for an impresario, and once for a professional conjuror. I have repeatedly been compelled to thrash my man in order to check attempts at familiarity.” He sighs for the days when nobility unmistakably proclaimed itself; when an aristocrat was disgraced who dabbled in commerce and a tradesman castigated who raised his eyes above the level prescribed for him. “A gentleman,” says O’Hagan, “is never at a loss for the right word at the right time. He knows when to throw down the gauntlet, and when to apologise (to his equals). In this way, factitious gentility often is unmasked.” In support of this contention Captain O’Hagan will tell you a story. One evening, at about seven o’clock, he chanced to be standing upon the corner of a prosperous suburban avenue in an exclusive, if slightly snob-ridden, district. As my memory serves me, he was waiting for a cab. Merely to say that Captain O’Hagan stands upon a corner is to do poor justice to the verity. O’Hagan not only stands upon a corner; he occupies and ornaments it. With picturesque head, hatless, aloft—something of a rebuke to the Lady O’Hagan who was a contemporary of Charles II.—one gloved hand resting upon the heavy ebony cane, two fingers of the other dangling the large monocle, dependent on its black silk ribbon, his is a figure for long remembrance.