amiability, his wit, his genuine kindliness, and his never-failing fund of good stories, was that by care and inclination he had succeeded in remaining a bachelor. Many had been the attempts to capture him; nor with the passing of the years had interest in the sport shown any sign of diminution. Well over the frailties and distempers so dangerous to youth, of staid and sober habits, with an ever-increasing capital invested in sound securities, together with an ever- increasing income from his pen, with a tastefully furnished house overlooking Regent's Park, an excellent and devoted cook and house-keeper, and relatives mostly settled in the Colonies, Joseph Loveredge, though inexperienced girls might pass him by with a contemptuous sniff, was recognised by ladies of maturer judgment as a prize not too often dangled before the eyes of spinsterhood. Old foxes--so we are assured by kind-hearted country gentlemen-- rather enjoy than otherwise a day with the hounds. However that may be, certain it is that Joseph Loveredge, confident of himself, one presumes, showed no particular disinclination to the chase. Perhaps on the whole he preferred the society of his own sex, with whom he could laugh and jest with more freedom, to whom he could tell his stories as they came to him without the trouble of having to turn them over first in his own mind; but, on the other hand, Joey made no attempt to avoid female company whenever it came his way; and then no cavalier could render himself more agreeable, more unobtrusively attentive. Younger men stood by, in envious admiration of the ease with which in five minutes he would establish himself on terms of cosy friendship with the brilliant beauty before whose gracious coldness they had stood shivering for months; the daring with which he would tuck under his arm, so to speak, the prettiest girl in the room, smooth down as if by magic her hundred prickles, and tease her out of her overwhelming sense of her own self-importance. The secret of his success was, probably, that he was not afraid of them. Desiring nothing from them beyond companionableness, a reasonable amount of appreciation for his jokes--which without being exceptionally stupid they would have found it difficult to withhold--with just sufficient information and intelligence to make conversation interesting, there was nothing about him by which they could lay hold of him. Of course, that rendered them particularly anxious to lay hold of him. Joseph's lady friends might, roughly speaking, be divided into two groups: the unmarried, who wanted to marry him to themselves; and the married, who wanted to marry him to somebody else. It would be a social disaster, the latter had agreed among themselves, if Joseph Loveredge should never wed.
'He would make such an excellent husband for poor Bridget.'
'Or Gladys. I wonder how old Gladys really is?'
'Such a nice, kind little man.'
'And when one thinks of the sort of men that ARE married, it does seem such a pity!'
'I wonder why he never has married, because he's just the sort of man you'd think WOULD have married.'
'I wonder if he ever was in love.'
'Oh, my dear, you don't mean to tell me that a man has reached the age of forty without ever being in love!'
The ladies would sigh.
'I do hope if ever he does marry, it will be somebody nice. Men are so easily deceived.'
'I shouldn't be surprised myself a bit if something came of it with Bridget. She's a dear girl, Bridget--so genuine.'
'Well, I think myself, dear, if it's anyone, it's Gladys. I should be so glad to see poor dear Gladys settled.'
The unmarried kept their thoughts more to themselves. Each one, upon reflection, saw ground for thinking that Joseph Loveredge had given proof of feeling preference for herself. The irritating thing was that, on further reflection, it was equally clear that Joseph Loveredge had shown signs of preferring most of the others.
Meanwhile Joseph Loveredge went undisturbed upon his way. At eight o'clock in the morning Joseph's housekeeper entered the room with a cup of tea and a dry biscuit. At eight-fifteen Joseph Loveredge arose and performed complicated exercises on an indiarubber pulley, warranted, if persevered in, to bestow grace upon the figure and elasticity upon the limbs. Joseph Loveredge persevered steadily, and had done so for years, and was himself contented with the result, which, seeing it concerned nobody else, was all that could be desired. At half- past eight on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Joseph Loveredge breakfasted on one cup of tea, brewed by himself; one egg, boiled by himself; and two pieces of toast, the first one spread with marmalade, the second with butter. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays Joseph Loveredge discarded eggs and ate a rasher of bacon. On Sundays Joseph Loveredge had both eggs and bacon, but then allowed himself half an hour longer for reading the paper. At nine-thirty Joseph Loveredge left the house for the office of the old-established journal of which he was the incorruptible and honoured City editor. At one-forty-five, having left his office at one-thirty, Joseph Loveredge entered the Autolycus Club and sat down to lunch. Everything else in Joseph's life was arranged with similar preciseness, so far as was possible with the duties of a City editor. Monday evening Joseph spent with musical friends at Brixton. Friday was Joseph's theatre night. On Tuesdays and Thursdays he was open to receive invitations out to dinner; on Wednesdays and Saturdays he invited four friends to dine with him at Regent's Park. On Sundays, whatever the season, Joseph Loveredge took an excursion into the country. He had his regular hours for reading, his regular hours for thinking. Whether in Fleet Street, or the Tyrol, on the Thames, or in the Vatican, you might recognise him from afar by his grey frock-coat, his patent-leather boots, his brown felt hat, his lavender tie. The man was a born bachelor. When the news of his engagement crept through the smoky portals of the Autolycus Club nobody believed it.
'Impossible!' asserted Jack Herring. 'I've known Joey's life for fifteen years. Every five minutes is arranged for. He could never have found the time to do it.'
'He doesn't like women, not in that way; I've heard him say so,' explained Alexander the Poet. 'His opinion is that women are the artists of Society--delightful as entertainers, but troublesome to live with.'
'I call to mind,' said the Wee Laddie, 'a story he told me in this verra room, barely three months agone: Some half a dozen of them were gong home together from the Devonshire. They had had a joyous evening, and one of them--Joey did not notice which--suggested their dropping in at his place just for a final whisky. They were laughing and talking in the dining-room, when their hostess suddenly appeared upon the scene in a costume--so Joey described it--the charm of which was its variety. She was a nice-looking woman, Joey said, but talked too much; and when the first lull occurred, Joey turned to the man sitting nighest to him, and who looked bored, and suggested in a whisper that it was about time they went.
''Perhaps you had better go,' assented the bored-looking man. 'Wish I could come with you; but, you see, I live here.''
'I don't believe it,' said Somerville the Briefless. 'He's been cracking his jokes, and some silly woman has taken him seriously.'
But the rumour grew into report, developed detail, lost all charm, expanded into plain recital of fact. Joey had not been seen within the Club for more than a week--in itself a deadly confirmation. The question became: Who was she--what was she like?
'It's none of our set, or we should have heard something from her side before now,' argued acutely Somerville the Briefless.
'Some beastly kid who will invite us to dances and forget the supper,' feared Johnny Bulstrode, commonly called the Babe. 'Old men always fall in love with young girls.'
'Forty,' explained severely Peter Hope, editor and part proprietor of Good Humour, 'is not old.'
'Well, it isn't young,' persisted Johnny.
'Good thing for you, Johnny, if it is a girl,' thought Jack Herring. 'Somebody for you to play with. I often feel sorry for you, having nobody but grown-up people to talk to.'
'They do get a bit stodgy after a certain age,' agreed the Babe.
'I am hoping,' said Peter, 'it will be some sensible, pleasant woman, a little over thirty. He is a dear fellow, Loveredge; and forty is a very good age for a man to marry.'
'Well, if I'm not married before I'm forty--' said the Babe.
'Oh, don't you fret,' Jack Herring interrupted him--'a pretty boy like you! We will give a ball next season, and bring you out, if you're good--get you off our hands in no time.'
It was August. Joey went away for his holiday without again entering the Club. The lady's name was Henrietta Elizabeth Doone. It was said by the Morning Post that she was connected with the Doones of Gloucestershire.
Doones of Gloucestershire--Doones of Gloucestershire mused Miss Ramsbotham, Society journalist, who
