?"

But he had not the money. He looked forward to it, and it seemed to
him that it contained all the possibilities of happiness. Then he
would be free. No more stationary dragging out of existence in that
Cornish cottage. He would move about, he would enjoy life. He was
still younger than those jovial old fellows, who seemed to be happy
enough. When he thought of Wenna Rosewarne it was with the notion that
marriage very considerably hampers a man's freedom of action.

If a man were married, could he have a choice of thirty dishes for
luncheon? Could he have the first edition of the evening papers
brought him almost damp from the press? Then how pleasant it was to be
able to smoke a cigar and to write one or two letters at the same time
in a large and well-ventilated room! Mr. Roscorla did not fail to draw
on his partners for the sum they had mentioned: he was not short of
money, but he might as well gather the first few drops of the coming
shower.

He did not go up to walk in the Park, for he knew there would be
almost nobody there at that time of the year; but he walked up to Bond
street and bought a pair of dress-boots, after which he returned to
the club and played billiards with one of his companions of the
previous evening until it was time to dress for dinner.

The party at the general's was a sufficiently small one, for you
cannot ask any one to dinner at a few hours' notice, except it be a
merry and marriageable widow who has been told that she will meet an
elderly and marriageable bachelor. This complaisant lady was present;
and Mr. Roscorla found himself on his entrance being introduced to a
good-looking, buxom dame, who had a healthy, merry, roseate face, very
black eyes and hair, and a somewhat gorgeous dress. She was a trifle
demure at first, but her amiable shyness soon wore off, and she was
most kind to Mr. Roscorla. He, of course, had to take in Lady Weekes;
but Mrs. Seton-Willoughby sat opposite him, and, while keeping the
whole table amused with an account of her adventures in Galway,
appeared to address the narrative principally to the stranger.

"Oh, my dear Lady Weekes," she said, "I was so glad to get back to
Brighton! I thought I should have forgotten my own language, and taken
to war-paint and feathers, if I had remained much longer. And Brighton
is so delightful just now--just comfortably filled, without the
November crush having set in. Now, couldn't you persuade the general
to take you