in the park; enveloped in that sensuous atmosphere of a warm
summer night which induces a languor in the body and in the will. On
such a night as this young Lorenzo, if he happens to have Jessica by his
side, makes a confounded idiot of himself, to his life's undoing; and
on such a night as this a reserved philosopher commits the folly of
discussing his private affairs with a Sebastian Pasquale.

But if he is correct in his surmise, I am much beholden to the relaxing
influences of the night. I have been warned of perils that encompass me:
perils that would infest the base and insidiously scale the sides of the
most inaccessible tower that man could build on the edge of the Regent's
Park. A woman with a Matrimonial Purpose would be quite capable of
gaining access by balloon to my turret window. Is it not my Aunt
Jessica's design melodramatically to abduct me in a yacht?

"Once aboard the pirate lugger, and the man is ours!" she cries.

But the man is not coming aboard the pirate lugger. He is going to keep
as far as he possibly can from the shore. Neither is he to be lured into
bringing his lovely Mohammedan ward with him, as an evidence of good
faith and unimpeachable morals. They can regard her as a Mohammedan ward
or a houri or a Princess of Babylon, just as they choose.

Pasquale must be right. A hundred remembered incidents go to prove it. I
recollect now that Judith has rallied me on my obtuseness.

The sole end of all my Aunt Jessica's manoeuvring is to marry me to
Dora, and Dora, like Barkis, is willing. Marry Dora! The thought is a
febrifuge, a sudorific! She would be thumping discords on my wornout
strings all day long. In a month I should be a writhing madman. I would
sooner, infinitely sooner, marry Carlotta. Carlotta is nature; Dora
isn't even art. Why, in the name of men and angels, should I marry Dora?
And why (save to call herself Lady Ordeyne) should she want to marry
me? I have not trifled with her virgin affections; and that she is
nourishing a romantic passion for me of spontaneous growth I decline to
believe. For aught I care she can be as inconsolable as Calypso. It
will do her good. She can write a little story about it in _The Sirens'
Magazine_.

I am shocked. For all her bouncing ways and animal health and incorrect
information, I thought Dora was a nice-minded girl.

Do nice-minded girls hunt husbands?

Good heavens! This looks like the subject of a silly-season
correspondence in _The D