At our age we have passion, fancy, sentiment; we can't read them away, or scribble them away;--we must live upon them generously, but economically." Maltravers was struck; the intruder was not the empty bore he had chosen to fancy him.

He roused himself languidly to reply.

"Life, _Mr._ Ferrers--" "Stop, _mon cher_, stop; don't call me Mister; we are to be friends; I hate delaying that which _must be_, even by a superfluous dissyllable; you are Maltravers, I am Ferrers.

But you were going to talk about life.
Suppose we _live_ a little while, instead of talking about it?
It wants an hour to dinner; let us stroll into the grounds; I want to get an appetite;--besides, I like nature when there are no Swiss mountains to climb before one can arrive at a prospect.

_Allons_!" "Excuse--" again began Maltravers, half interested, half annoyed.
"I'll be shot if I do.