“Well, what is it?” he interrogated of the glassy eye of the decaying bittern. Jeremy turned his broad back upon Ernest—he felt that he could speak better on such a subject with his back turned—and, addressing empty space before him, said: “I think it was precious unkind of you.” “What was precious unkind?” “To go and cut me out of the only girl——” “I ever loved?” suggested Ernest, for he was hesitating. “I ever loved!” chimed in Jeremy; the phrase expressed his sentiments exactly. “Well, old chap, if you would come to the point a little more, and tell me who the deuce you are talking about——” “Why, who should I be talking about? there is only one girl——” “You ever loved?” “I ever loved!” “Well, in the name of the Holy Roman Empire, _who_ is she?” “Why, Eva Ceswick.” Ernest whistled. “I say, old chap,” he said, after a pause, “why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t even know that you knew her. Are you engaged to her, then?” “Engaged! no.” “Well, then, have you an understanding with her?” “No, of course not.” “Look here, old fellow, if you would just slew round a bit and tell me how the matter stands, we might get on a little.” “It doesn’t stand at all, but—I worship the ground she treads on; there!” “Ah!” said Ernest, “that’s awkward, for so do I—at least I think I do.” Jeremy groaned, and Ernest groaned too, by way of company. “Look here, old chap,” said the latter, “what is to be done? You should have told me, but you didn’t, you see. If you had, I would have kept clear. Fact is, she bowled me over altogether, bowled me clean.” “So she did me.” “I’ll tell you what, Jeremy, I’ll go away and leave you to make the running. Not that I see that there is much good in either of us making the running, for we have nothing to marry on, and no more has she.” “And we are only twenty-one. We can’t marry at twenty-one,” put in Jeremy, “or we should have a large family by the time we’re thirty. Fellows who marry at twenty-one always do.” “She’s twenty-one; she told me so.” “She told me too,” said Jeremy, determined to show that Ernest was not the only person favoured with this exciting fact. “Well, shall I clear? we can’t jaw about it for ever.” “No,” said Jeremy, slowly, and in a way that showed that it cost him an effort to say it, “that would not be fair; besides, I expect that the mischief is done; everybody gets fond of you, old fellow, men or women. No, you sha’n’t go, and we won’t get to loggerheads over it either. I’ll tell you what we will do—we will toss up.” This struck Ernest as a brilliant suggestion. “Right you are,” he said, at once producing a shilling; “singles or threes?” “Singles, of course; it’s sooner over.” Ernest poised the coin on his thumb. “You call. But, I say, what are we tossing for? We can’t draw lots for the girl like the fellows in Homer. We haven’t captured her yet.” This was obviously a point that required consideration. Jeremy scratched his head.