"Dear lady," said Mr. Erwyn, "surely you would not confound amour with
love? Believe me, the translation is inadequate. Amour is but the summer
wave that lifts and glitters and laughs in the sunlight, and within the
instant disappears; but love is the unfathomed eternal sea itself. Or--to
shift the metaphor--Amour is a general under whom youth must serve:
Curiosity and Lustiness are his recruiting officers, and it is well to
fight under his colors, for it is against Ennui that he marshals his
forces. 'Tis a resplendent conflict, and young blood cannot but stir and
exult as paradoxes, marching and countermarching at the command of their
gay generalissimo, make way for one another in iridescent squadrons, while
through the steady musketry of epigram one hears the clash of contending
repartees, or the cry of a wailing sonnet. But this lord of laughter may be
served by the young alone; and by and by each veteran--scarred, it may be,
but not maimed, dear lady--is well content to relinquish the glory and
adventure of such colorful campaigns for some quiet inglenook, where, with
love to make a third, he prattles of past days and deeds with one that goes
hand in hand with him toward the tomb."

Lady Allonby accorded this conceit the tribute of a sigh; then glanced,
in the direction of four impassive footmen to make sure they were out of
earshot.

"And so--?" said she.

"Split me!" said Mr. Erwyn, "I thought you had noted it long ago."

"Indeed," she observed, reflectively, "I suppose it is quite time."

"I am not," said Mr. Erwyn, "in the heyday of my youth, I grant you; but