The Colonel entered his drawing-room. A miracle of exquisite neatness
the room was--rather effeminate, perhaps, in its attributes; but that was
no sign of the Colonel's tastes, but of his popularity with the ladies.
All those pretty things were their gifts. The tapestry on the chairs
their work--the Sevres on the consoles--the clock on the mantel-shelf--
the inkstand, paper-cutter, taper-stand on the writing-table--their
birthday presents. Even the white woolly Maltese dog that sprang from
the rug to welcome him--even the flowers in the jardiniere--even the
tasteful cottage-piano, and the very music-stand beside it--and the card-
trays, piled high with invitations,--were contributions from the
forgiving sex to the unrequiting bachelor.

Surveying his apartment with a complacent air, the Colonel sank into his
easy /fauteuil/, and drawing off his gloves leisurely said--

"No man has more friends than I have--never did I lose one--never did
I sign a bill. Your father pursued a different policy--he signed many
bills--and lost many friends." Lionel, much distressed, looked down, and
evidently desired to have done with the subject. Not so the Colonel.
That shrewd man, though he did not preach, had a way all his own, which
was perhaps quite as effective as any sermon by a fashionable layman can
be to an impatient youth.

"Yes," resumed the Colonel, "it is the old story. One always begins by
being security to a friend. The discredit of the thing is familiarised
to one's mind by the false show of generous confidence in another. Their
what you have done for a friend, a friend should do for you;--a hundred
or two would be useful now--you are sure to repay it in three months.
To Youth the Future seems safe as the Bank of England, and distant as the