"Probably like the mutton," answered Drewitt; "they descend upon me with such rapidity that I cannot get the taste of one out of my mouth before another is produced. Ida Hopkins was the last, she of the freckles. Her shapelessness, my dear Richard, was really most indelicate. She bulged wherever she should have receded, and receded everywhere she should have bulged."
"And what did Aunt Caroline say?" enquired Beresford.
"Oh, she said quite a lot about saving the title, and the woman who was content with her place by the fireside. I pointed out some of Ida's physical imperfections, and suggested a photographer's darkroom in preference to the fireside; but the Aunt said that if I wished to be indelicate, I had better go; so I went, and Ida has taken her gross inequalities to another market. It's all very tame and tedious," he added.
"What's Lola Craven like?" asked Beresford.
"I haven't the most remote idea. She has one advantage, however, she's an orphan, with only an aunt attachment."
"Lola Craven is also a much better name than Ida Hopkins."
"When you marry," said Drewitt, "you don't live with a visiting-card, you have to live with a woman. That's what makes marriage so infernally uncomfortable. But tell me about yourself."
Beresford outlined the adventures that had befallen him, making no mention, however, of the
