"Tom's a cold," cried young Spottiswoode.
"You are all welcome to laugh, gentlemen," said Tom Pynsent, in his invariably good-natured manner. "Some of you are merry because you have not been refused by a woman you like, and half of you rejoice to find the mortification extended to another besides yourselves."
Mr. Wycherly turned towards Mr. Pynsent. "My dear fellow, you cause your own vexation by hunting after a woman who does not care for you. Most men run after shadows, and cast away substance. I married Mrs. Wycherly because she took a fancy to me, and let me see at once what she wished and expected. Faith, it saved me a great deal of trouble!"
"But no girl cares for me, unless she longs for my money," exclaimed Pynsent, feelingly.
"Zounds, man, don't be crestfallen. I know a fine woman at this moment, and in this room, who would take you penniless!"
Tom Pynsent looked aghast.
"Every body but yourself has observed the thing," said young Spottiswoode. "Haven't they, Tyndal?"
"Where are your eyes, Pynsent?" asked Mr. Vyvyan. "I detected the lady the moment you addressed her."
"'Love in her eyes for ever plays,'" sang Mr. Wycherly. "'It makes her rosy lips his care.'"