ave allowed the thought of any of your barbarous messes to occur to a
man at table. Let me tell you, Roy, you astonish me: up till now I have
never known you guilty of the bad taste of defending a bad dish on your
own board.'

'Then you will the more readily pardon me, Jorian.'

'Oh, I pardon you,' Jorian sneered, tripped to the carpet by such
ignoble mildness. 'A breakfast is no great loss.'

My father assured him he would have a serious conversation with
Alphonse, for whom he apologized by saying that Alphonse had not, to
his knowledge, served as hospital cook anywhere, and was therefore quite
possibly not sufficiently solicitous for appetites and digestions of
invalids.

Jorian threw back his head as though to discharge a spiteful sarcasm
with good aim; but turning to me, said, 'Harry, the thing must be done;
your father must marry. Notoriety is the season for a pick and choice
of the wealthiest and the loveliest. I refuse to act the part of
warming-pan any longer; I refuse point blank. It's not a personal
feeling on my part; my advice is that of a disinterested friend, and I
tell you candidly, Roy, set aside the absurd exhibition of my dancing
attendance on that last rose of Guildhall,--egad, the alderman went
like Summer, and left us the very picture of a fruity Autumn,--I say you
can't keep her hanging on the tree of fond expectation for ever. She'll
drop.'

'Catch her, Jorian; you are on guard.'

'Upwards of three hundred thousand, if a penny, Roy Richmond! Who? I? I
am not a fortune-hunter.'

'Nor am I, friend Jorian.'

'No, it 's because you're not thorough: you 'll fall between the
stools.'

My father remarked that he should visit this upon Mr. Alphonse.

'You shook off that fine Welsh girl, and she was in your hand--the act
of a madman!' Jorian continued. 'You're getting older: the day will come
when you're a flat excitement. You know the first Lady Edbury spoilt one
of your best chances when you had the market. Now you're trifling with
the second. She's the head of the Light Brigade, but you might fix her
down, if she's not too much in debt. You 're not at the end of your run,
I dare say. Only, my good Roy, let me tell you, in life you mustn't
wait for the prize of the race till you touch the goal--if you prefer
metaphor. You generally come forward about every seven years or so. Add
on another seven, and women'll begin to think. You can't beat Time, mon
Roy.'

'So,' said my father, 'I touch th