He had done what he wanted; he had seen the great things, and he had given his mind a chance to "improve," if it would.

He cheerfully believed that it had improved.
Yes, this seeing of the world was very pleasant, and he would willingly do a little more of it.

Thirty-six years old as he was, he had a handsome stretch of life before him yet, and he need not begin to count his weeks.

Where should he take the world next?
I have said he remembered the eyes of the lady whom he had found standing in Mrs.
Tristram's drawing-room; four months had elapsed, and he had not forgotten them yet.

He had looked--he had made a point of looking--into a great many other eyes in the interval, but the only ones he thought of now were Madame de Cintre's.