Presently the door opened, and “My dear Ferrers!” “Well, mon cher, how are you?” were the salutations hastily exchanged.
After the first sentences of inquiry, gratulation, and welcome, had cleared the way for more general conversation,—“Well, Maltravers,” said Ferrers, “so here we are together again, and after a lapse of so many years! both older, certainly; and you, I suppose, wiser. At all events, people think you so; and that’s all that’s important in the question. Why, man, you are looking as young as ever, only a little paler and thinner; but look at me—I am not very much past thirty, and I am almost an old man; bald at the temples, crows’ feet, too, eh! Idleness ages one damnably.”
“Pooh, Lumley, I never saw you look better. And are you really come to settle in England?”
“Yes, if I can afford it. But at my age, and after having seen so much, the life of an idle, obscure garcon does not content me. I feel that the world’s opinion, which I used to despise, is growing necessary to me. I want to be something. What can I be? Don’t look alarmed, I won’t rival you. I dare say literary reputation is a fine thing, but I desire some distinction more substantial and worldly. You know your own country; give me a map of the roads to Power.”
“To Power! Oh, nothing but law, politics, and riches.”
“For law I am too old; politics, perhaps, might suit me; but riches, my dear Ernest—ah, how I long for a good account with my banker!”
“Well, patience and hope. Are you are not a rich uncle’s heir?”
“I don’t know,” said Ferrers, very dolorously; “the old gentleman has married again, and may have a family.”
“Married!—to whom?”
“A widow, I hear; I know nothing more, except that she has a child already. So you see she has got into a cursed way of having children. And perhaps, by the time I’m forty, I shall see a whole covey of cherubs flying away with the great Templeton property!”