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"Going to play tennis?"

"No, I think not."

"Going down to the Oval, to have an hour or two with the professionals? Good day to-day, and the ground's in clipping order."

"No, I think not."

"Well, then, look here. Come along with me: we'll go for a spin as far as Hendon; come back and dine at Jack Straw's Castle at Hampstead, where the man has some wonderfully-good dry sherry, which he bought the other day at a sale up there; and then walk quietly in at night. What do you say?"

"No, I think not to-day, old fellow."

"Oh, all right," said George Wainwright, after an instant's pause; "I'm sorry I spoke."

"Don't be angry, George, old boy! You know I'm never so jolly as when I'm with you, and that there's no man on earth I care for like you," said Paul, earnestly; "but I've half-promised myself for this afternoon, and until I hear--and I expect to hear every moment--I don't know whether I'm free or not."

"All right, Paul. I daresay I bore you sometimes, old man. I often think I do. But, you know, I'm five or six years older than you, and I was the first fellow you knew when you came into the service, through your people being acquainted with mine, and so I've a natural interest in you. Besides, you're a young swell in your way, and it does good to me to hear you talk and mark your freshness, and your--well, your youth. After thirty, a London man hasn't much of either."