deline Staveley all this might be very
well. He preferred Madeline to Cowcross Street with all its delights.
But when there should be no longer any hope--and indeed, as things
went now, there was but little ground for hoping--what then? Might it
not be that his trial had come on him too early in life, and that he
would solace himself in his disappointment, if not with Carroty Bob,
with companionships and pursuits which would be as objectionable, and
perhaps more expensive?

On three or four occasions his grandfather asked him how things
were going at Noningsby, striving to interest himself in something
as to which the outlook was not altogether dismal, and by degrees
learned,--not exactly all the truth--but as much of the truth as
Peregrine knew.

"Do as she tells you," said the grandfather, referring to Lady
Staveley's last words.

"I suppose I must," said Peregrine, sadly. "There's nothing else for
it. But if there's anything that I hate in this world, it's waiting."

"You are both very young," said his grandfather.

"Yes; we are what people call young, I suppose. But I don't
understand all that. Why isn't a fellow to be happy when he's young
as well as when he's old?"

Sir Peregrine did not answer him, but no doubt thought that he might
alter his opinion in a few years. There is great doubt as to what may
be the most enviable time of life with a man. I am inclined to think
that it is at that period when his children have all been born but
have not yet began to go astray or to vex him with disappointment;
when his own pecuniary prospects are settled, and he knows pretty
well what his tether will allow him; when the appetite is still good
and the digestive organs at their full power; when he has ceased to
care as to the length of his girdle, and before the doctor warns
him against solid breakfasts and port wine after dinner; when his
affectations are over and his infirmities have not yet come upon him;
while he can still walk his ten miles, and feel some little pride in
being able to do so; while he has still nerve to ride his horse to
hounds, and can look with some scorn on the ignorance of younger men
who have hardly yet learned that noble art. As regards men, this,
I think, is the happiest time of life; but who shall answer the
question as regards women? In this respect their lot is more liable
to disappointment. With the choicest flowers that blow the sweetest
aroma of their perfection lasts but for a momen