"Reassure yourself, Mr. Darrell," said Vance, "of any fears which Lionel's enthusiasm might excite. He tells me that Titania is in America; yet, after all, I would rather he saw her again--no cure for love at first sight like a second sight of the beloved object after a long absence." DARRELL (somewhat gravely).--"A hazardous remedy--it might kill, if it did not cure." COLONEL MORLEY.--"I suspect, from Vance's manner, that he has tested its efficacy on his own person." LIONEL.--"NO, mon Colonel--I'll answer for Vance. He in love! Never." Vance coloured--gave a touch to the nose of a Roman senator in the famous classical picture which he was then painting for a merchant at Manchester--and made no reply. Darrell looked at the artist with a sharp and searching glance. COLONEL MORLEY.--"Then all the more credit to Vance for his intuitive perception of philosophical truth. Suppose, my dear Lionel, that we light, one idle day, on a beautiful novel, a glowing romance--suppose that, by chance, we are torn from the book in the middle of the interest --we remain under the spell of the illusion--we recall the scenes--we try to guess what should have been the sequel--we think that no romance ever was so captivating, simply because we were not allowed to conclude it. Well, if, some years afterwards, the romance fall again in our way, and we open at the page where we left off, we cry, in the maturity of our sober judgment, 'Mawkish stuff!--is this the same thing that I once thought so beautiful?--how one's tastes do alter!'" DARRELL.--"Does it not depend on the age in which one began the romance?" LIONEL.--"Rather, let me think, sir, upon the real depth of the interest--the true beauty of the--" VANCE (interrupting).--" Heroine?--Not at all, Lionel. I once fell in love--incredible as it may seem to you--nine years ago last January. I was too poor then to aspire to any young lady's hand--therefore I did not tell my love, but 'let concealment,' et cetera, et cetera. She went away with her mamma to complete her education on the Continent. I remained 'Patience on a monument.' She was always before my eyes--the slenderest, shyest creature just eighteen. I never had an idea that she could grow any older, less slender, or less shy. Well, four years afterwards (just before we made our excursion into Surrey, Lionel), she returned to England, still unmarried. I went to a party at which I knew she was to be-saw her, and was cured." "Bad case of small-pox, or what?" asked the Colonel, smiling.