life as the men and women who thronged the pavements or reclined in
their carriages in the sumptuous ease of wealth and beauty.

Of the men who languidly gazed upon the gay and splendid scene from the
windows of the Club, none seemed so interested as the man who leaned
against the window-frame. He appeared more than interested--absorbed,
indeed--in the world without, and he looked bright and handsome enough,
and charged enough with buoyant health, to be the ideal bridegroom of
Nature in her springtide.

He was a dark man, tall and well built, with clear brown eyes. His black
hair (which was not cropped short, as is the fashion) had a lustrous
softness, and at the same time an elastic bushiness, which nothing but
the finest-tempered health can give; and his complexion, though tanned
by exposure, had yet much of the smoothness of youth, save where the
razor had passed upon his beard. Thus seen, a little way off, he
appeared a young man in his rosy twenties; on closer view and
acquaintance, however, that superficial impression was contradicted by
the set expression of his mouth and the calm observation and
understanding of his eye, which spoke of ripe experience rather than of
green hope. He bore a very good English name--Courtney; and he was
believed to be rich. There was no member of whom the Hyacinth Club was
prouder than of him: though he had done nothing, it was commonly
believed he could do anything he chose. No other was listened to with
such attention, and there was nothing on which he could not throw a
fresh and fascinating light. He was a constant spring of surprise and
interest. While others were striving after income and reputation, he
calmly and modestly, without obtrusion or upbraiding, held on his own
way, with unsurpassable curiosity, to the discovery of all which life
might have to reveal. It was this, perhaps, as much as the charm of his