Maunders reminded Vernon in many ways of Lucien de Rubempré in "Lost Illusions." Egotism was the keynote of the real person as of the fictitious; but where Balzac's hero drifted weakly with the tide, Maunders struck out against it for a landing of his own choosing. As Lucien was drawn, handsome, clever, and unscrupulous, so was Maunders in actual life, and an insatiable love of pleasure was common to both. Overindulgence might well wreck Mrs. Bedge's darling, as it had wrecked the lover of Madame de Bargeton. It was the conversation with Colonel Towton which sent Vernon in quest of the man whom he would otherwise have avoided like poison. He wished to learn clearly the attitude of Maunders with regard to the two ladies he was so audaciously wooing. Much as the man loved Lucy Corsoon--and Maunders' love in this quarter really seemed to be the most honest part of him--he loved himself more; and it seemed incredible to Vernon that so egotistic a person would risk losing the world of pleasure for a genuine passion. Sir Julius Corsoon was wealthy and Lucy was an heiress, but if she married Maunders, who was no favourite with the baronet, her father would probably cut her off with the proverbial shilling. It really seemed wiser for Maunders to stick to Ida and the ten thousand a year of which she was sole mistress. But then, if Ida had truly overcome her infatuation, Maunders had little chance of success in that quarter. A desire to learn the true state of affairs brought Vernon to Maunders' chambers in Planet Street, Piccadilly, at eleven o'clock in the morning, two or three days after that enlightening conversation with Colonel Towton. Vernon naturally expected to find the sybarite housed like Solomon-in-all-his-glory, and he was not disappointed. The rooms were beautifully decorated and sumptuously furnished. No expense had been spared to make them worthy of this fastidious young gentleman, who was only content with the very best which civilisation could afford. He received his friend in a delightful Pompadour apartment, airy and bright, and gracefully frivolous. Recalling the sombre, shabby house at Hampstead, and Mrs. Bedge's revelations regarding a diminishing income which made her anxious to seek at her age the post of a paid companion, Vernon could not think how Maunders managed to provide himself with such gorgeous surroundings. He had no settled income, and, like the lilies of the field, he neither toiled nor spun. But he welcomed Vernon in a maroon-coloured velvet smoking-suit which must have cost a considerable sum in Bond Street, and asked him to partake of a delightfully tempting breakfast, set out with all the delicacies of the season. "Though, I daresay," said the handsome scamp in his languid, insolent manner, "that you breakfasted at cock-crow. You were always aggressively virtuous."