was a very regular churchman, but at the Oyster
Club he was sometimes a little free in his conversation, more than
hinting at a life of Sultanic self-indulgence which he had passed in the
West Indies, shaking his head now and then and smiling rather bitterly,
as men are wont to do when they intimate that they have become a little
too wise to be instructed about a world which has long been flat and
stale to them.

For some time he was quite general in his attentions to the fair sex,
combining the gallantries of a lady's man with a severity of criticism on
the person and manners of absent belles, which tended rather to stimulate
in the feminine breast the desire to conquer the approval of so
fastidious a judge. Nothing short of the very best in the department of
female charms and virtues could suffice to kindle the ardour of Mr.
Edward Freely, who had become familiar with the most luxuriant and
dazzling beauty in the West Indies. It may seem incredible that a
confectioner should have ideas and conversation so much resembling those
to be met with in a higher walk of life, but it must be remembered that
he had not merely travelled, he had also bow-legs and a sallow, small-
featured visage, so that nature herself had stamped him for a fastidious
connoisseur of the fair sex.

At last, however, it seemed clear that Cupid had found a sharper arrow
than usual, and that Mr. Freely's heart was pierced. It was the general
talk among the young people at Grimworth. But was it really love, and
not rather ambition? Miss Fullilove, the timber-merchant's daughter, was
quite sure that if _she_ were Miss Penny Palfrey, she would be cautious;
it was not a good sign when men looked so much above themselves for a
wife. For it was no less a person than Miss Penelope Palfrey, second
daughter of the Mr. Palfrey who farmed his own land, that had attracted
Mr. Freely's peculiar regard, and conquered his fastidiousness; and no
wonder, for the Ideal, as exhibited in the finest waxwork, was perhaps
never so closely approached by the Real as in the person of the pretty
Penelope. Her yellowish flaxen hair did not curl naturally, I admit, but
its bright crisp ringlets were such smooth, perfect miniature tubes, that
you would have longed to pass your little finger through them, and feel
their soft elasticity. She wore them in a crop, for in those days, when
society was in a healthier state, young ladies wore crops long after they
were twenty, a