"Confound your impertinence!" I roared, "what do you mean by
that?"

"No impertinence, at all, my dear fellow. In fact it is most
pertinent. Miss Kinglake is a girl, and you--well, you voted for
Grant."

"Which is your gentle way of saying that I am too old."

"No, not too old; just old enough--to know better."

"We are never too old to love," I said, conscious that I was
uttering a melancholy platitude.

"Too old to love? Heaven forbid! But we may be too old to
marry--at least to marry anybody worth while. Come, Stanhope,
tell me: do you really love this young woman?"

"Love her? Here I have been telling you that I intend to marry a
charming girl, and you turn about and ask me if I love her. Of
course I love her. I have been loving her in one way and another
for years."

"What do you mean by that? I thought you only met her a few weeks
ago."

I smiled pityingly. "So I did, but for years she has been my
affinity. Incidentally I don't mind saying I began by loving her
mother."

Bunsey sat up straight. "Oh, you loved her mother. Was her mother
pretty?"

"She was as you see Phyllis. In fact I think she was, if
anything, a trifle prettier. We were playmates and schoolmates,
and in the nature of things, if I had not wandered off to the
city, I presume we should have married. Dear little Sylvia," I
went on musingly, "I can see her at this moment, looking down
from heaven and smiling on my union with her daughter. For if
ever a match was made in heaven this was. Confound it! what are
you doing now?"

While I was talking Bunsey had reached over, taken a sheet of
paper and was busily writing. He looked up carelessly.

"Your story interests me, and is such good material that I
thought I would make a few notes. Young boy loves young
girl--goes to city--forgets her--young girl marries--has charming
daughter--dies--years pass--venerable gentleman returns--sees
daughter--great emotion on part of v. g.--thinks he loves
her--proposes--accepted--mar--no, there I think I must stop for
the present."

"Oh, don't stop there, I beg," I said sarcastically; "if you are
thinking of using these materials for one of your popular
novels, be sure to throw in a few duels, several heartrending
catastrophes, and other incidents of what you call 'action,'
appropriately expressed in bad English."

Bunsey was imperturbable. "Thank you for your appreciative
estimate of my literary style," he replied coolly; "but really,
my consider