Charles felt very angry with his bachelor friends, and when Clare joined him at the end of an alley was in no mood to be pleasant company.
"Sure, Charles," the latter remonstrated, "you're the last man to tie yourself to the skirts of a goddess."
"There's a medium between an angel and a woman of the town," said Charles sententiously.
"But the woman was once an angel to somebody, and 'foregad! I believe you do your charmer an injury to make her such a paragon of air. I swear those eyes can flash with more than saintly ecstasy."
"Z—— ds! Tony, you are bent on a quarrel. I tell you the child's name shall not be a toast for my profligate friends."
"You are not better than any of them."
"But at least I can reverence purity."
"Aye, and so can Blewforth."
"D—— e!" swore Charles, "'tis a pity he don't exercise his talent more openly."
The argument would doubtless have continued, if the sound of voices approaching had not made the two young men pause involuntarily. Two people were passing down the adjoining alley, and it was impossible not to overhear some of the conversation, which was sufficiently ridiculous. A feminine voice declared that soldiers were romantick, and a voice of opposite sex replied that as an attribute of class, it was an undeniable quality, but not for that reason universally applicable to individual members of that class.