“Yes, and it’s a horrible one-eyed sort of a place. Why don’t you come and have a look?”
“I shall presently. Seen the Palace?”
“I had a walk round and went into the gardens, which are all very well—old-fashioned, you know; but the private apartments are full of old maids.”
“Ah, yes; maiden ladies and widows. Sort of aristocratic union, I’ve heard. Good thing for you, Dick.”
“Why?” said the lad, who had again perched himself on the edge of the table and was complacently glancing at his boots.
“Because your inflammable young heart will not be set on fire by antique virgins and blushing widows of sixty.”
“I don’t know so much about that,” cried the lad excitedly, taking off his natty little foraging cap. “Marcus, dear boy, I was walking round a cloister sort of place with a fountain in the middle, and then through a blank square court, and I saw three of the loveliest women, at one of the windows, I ever saw in my life.”
“Distance lends enchantment to the view, my dear boy. If you had gone closer you would have seen the wrinkles and the silvery hairs, if they had not been dyed.”
“I tell you they weren’t old,” continued Dick, whose eyes sparkled like those of a girl.
“I’m not a marrying man, for reasons best known to my banker and my creditors.”