_Illustrated by Edmund J. Sullivan._
After my engagement to Lucy Vivian I took to working very hard--a man
always does that or nothing at all--and the work suited me better than
the idleness. I suppose we had been engaged five months, and I was
beginning to grow accustomed to it, when one afternoon the amiable peer
who had been of such service to me in the affair strolled into my
studio. Directly I set eyes on him I knew he had something in the wind,
his manner was so absolutely uninterested.
He nodded to me without speaking, crossed over to the fire (it was
bitterly cold outside), and stood with his back to it. Then he pulled
off his gloves slowly and invited me to come and shake hands.
"You lazy beggar!" I said; "you come here! Can't you see I'm working?"
"Working! you're always working. What's come over you?"
"You forget----"
"Oh, it's Lucy, is it?" he asked. "Well, well! she's a dear child, Phil,
I admit."
"Lord St. Alleyne," I said, "you never spoke a truer word."
"Why will you always be throwing that confounded title in my face? I'm
only an Irish peer; that title has been a great drawback to me."
"How?" I asked.
"It makes people take twice as long as they should to find out I'm a
decent chap."
"It didn't take me long," I said.
"You're different, Phil; it's the women it troubles."