ges are to
be met with buzzing contentedly within the most exclusive circles, and
concerning whom, seeing that they are neither rare nor rich, nor
extraordinarily clever nor well born, one wonders "how the devil they got
there!" Meeting this man by chance one afternoon, he links his arm in
his and invites him home to dinner.

So soon as they are left alone, with the walnuts and wine between them,
John Ingerfield says, thoughtfully cracking a hard nut between his
fingers--

"Will, I'm going to get married."

"Excellent idea--delighted to hear it, I'm sure," replies Will, somewhat
less interested in the information than in the delicately flavoured
Madeira he is lovingly sipping. "Who's the lady?"

"I don't know, yet," is John Ingerfield's answer.

His friend glances slyly at him over his glass, not sure whether he is
expected to be amused or sympathetically helpful.

"I want you to find one for me."

Will Cathcart puts down his glass and stares at his host across the
table.

"Should be delighted to help you, Jack," he stammers, in an alarmed
tone--"'pon my soul I should; but really don't know a damned woman I
could recommend--'pon my soul I don't."

"You must see a good many: I wish you'd look out for one that you _could_
recommend."

"Certainly I will, my dear Jack!" answers the other, in a relieved voice.
"Never thought about 'em in that way before. Daresay I shall come across
the very girl to suit you. I'll keep my eyes open and let you know."

"I shall be obliged to you if you will," replies John Ingerfield,
quietly; "and it's your turn, I think, to oblige me, Will. I have
obliged you, if you recollect."

"Shall never forget it, my dear Jack," murmurs Will, a little uneasily.
"It was uncommonly good of you. You saved me from ruin, Jack: shall
think about it to my dying day--'pon my soul I shall."

"No need to let it worry you for so long a period as that," returns John,
with the faintest suspicion of a smile playing round his firm mouth. "The
bill falls due at the end of next month. You can discharge the debt
then, and the matter will be off your mind."

Will finds his chair growing uncomfortable under him, while the Madeira
somehow loses its flavour. He gives a short, nervous laugh.

"By Jove," he says: "so soon as that? The date had quite slipped my
memory."

"Fortunate that I reminded you," says John, the smile round his lips
deepening.

Will fidgets on his seat. "I'm afraid, my de