“Lord Tarlyon,” came the answer, “will see Major Cypress at Lord Tarlyon’s club at Lord Tarlyon’s convenience, and desires Major Cypress to stand at attention when speaking to him.” There are many clubs in Saint James’s Street, but there is one in particular, towards the northern part, much referred to by biographers of persons of _ton_ of more elegant times. Thither, that morning at a reasonable hour, went Major Cypress, very thoughtfully. Tarlyon was there. Tarlyon was always there, at a reasonable hour. “Bronx or Martini, Hugo?” “Sherry, thanks.” “Nice morning, Hugo. Up late last night?” “No,” said Major Cypress. “No. I was not up late last night, George. And if you really want to know, I think it is a very classy morning.” “Well,” said Tarlyon, “you can’t say fairer than that, old man.” Silence.... “Sir,” said Major Cypress, “have I your permission to pay my addresses to your little sister with a view to a matrimonial entanglement?” “Ho!” said Tarlyon. “What the devil do you mean by saying ‘Ho!’ when I ask you if I can pay my----” “You can pay her what you like,” said Tarlyon sulkily. “I thank you,” said Hugo. “But,” said Tarlyon, “can you pay her anything at all? Major Cypress, are you in a position to support a wife?” “Well, I never!” gasped Hugo. “I’m on half-pay, man!” “Ho!” said Tarlyon. “I withdraw my consent. I hate to be unkind to majors, but I’m afraid I must. How are you going to live, man?” “Can’t worry about cheques in Paradise, George.” “Good for you, old Hugo! Very pretty. Bronx or Martini?” “Sherry, thanks. George, you don’t know what love is....” “Keep nothing from me, Hugo. What is love? Ah, what is love? I insist on being told....” “Love,” said Hugo, “is proposing to Shirley five times in five months and being rejected five times in five months.... O God!” “What did the girl say?” “Say! She laughed at me, George. Five times running! ‘Dear Hugo....’ That’s what she said!” “Poor old Hugo!” “She said, George, that she could never, never marry me....” “Well, damn it, man, you didn’t take that lying down, did you! And you a Major!” “I took it lightly, George. I smiled. I distinctly remember smiling. O God!” “I _am_ so sorry, Hugo! I really am, you know. Honestly, old man, I’d sooner have you for a brother-in-law than any man alive--except, perhaps, a Rockefeller.” “Money, George, isn’t everything.” “You’re right there, old man. Your money is completely nothing, anyhow. What’s your next step? Orchids?” “I am no good at those Dago tricks, George.” “Shirley’s very partial to carnations, old man.” “No, George. Not even carnations. She’d laugh at me. She’d say ‘dear Hugo’....” “Well, old man, you might go further and hear worse. It’s purple carnations she’s especially fond of it, by the way.” “George, I’m going to try just once again--without carnations. Just once more, old man. And I thought I’d get your backing.”