and Mr.
Die? I did not give you credit for a joke; not even for so bad a one
as that would be. Shall I congratulate or condole with you?"

"Either or neither. Perhaps you had better wait till you see the
lady."

"And when is it to be?"

"Well; in this coming summer, I suppose. That is my wish, at least."

"And your wish of course will be law. I presume then that I may be
justified in surmising that the lady has some considerable fortune?"

"No, indeed, she has not. Something she has got; about as much,
perhaps, as myself. We shall have bread to eat."

"And occasionally cheese," said Harcourt, who could not understand
that any rising man could marry early, unless in doing so he acquired
money.

"And occasionally cheese," repeated Bertram. "This is a state of
things that would not suit your book, I know."

"Not exactly," said Harcourt. "But men have very different ideas
about women. I could do, and have done, and am doing with a small
income myself; but a wife is in some respects like a horse. If a
gentleman does keep a horse, it should be well groomed."

"You could not endure a woman who was not always got up in satin and
velvet?"

"Not satin and velvet exactly. I do not require a curiously-mounted
saddle for my horse. But I don't think I should have much enjoyment
with a cheap wife. I like cold mutton and candle-ends myself very
well, but I do not love feminine economies. Family washing-bills kept
at the lowest, a maid-of-all-work with an allowance in lieu of beer,
and a dark morning gown for household work, would not, if I know
myself, add fuel to the ardour of my conjugal affection. I love women
dearly; I like them to be near me; but then I like them to be nice.
When a woman is nasty, she is very nasty."

Bertram said in his heart that Harcourt was a beast, an animal
without a soul, a creature capable of no other joys than those of a
material nature; but he kept this opinion at the present moment to
himself. Not, however, that he was averse to express himself openly
before his friend. He often gave Harcourt to understand that he
suspected him of being deficient in the article of a soul; and
Harcourt would take the reproach with perfect good-humour, remarking,
perhaps, that he might probably find it possible to get on decently
without one.

"Is the lady's name a secret?" he asked.

"No; not to you, at least. I believe it is generally considered
advisable that these sort of things should not be talked