“And you at once fell in love with her again? Ah! such meetings are always extremely dangerous.”
“Yes; that is only too true. I know I have been foolish, and now must suffer.”
“Rubbish!” he cried. “Why, my dear fellow, Edith loves you, and is perfectly devoted to you. She is charming, pretty, smart, with all the qualities necessary for the wife of a successful diplomatist. Some day, when you get your promotion, you will be gazetted minister to one or other of the South American Republics, and with her as your wife you’ll be perfectly happy.”
“You seem to have already carved out my future for me, Dick.”
“I’ve only prophesied the ordinary course of things.”
“I shall, I feel certain, never marry Edith,” I answered, shaking my head. “It is entirely out of the question.”
“Well, we shall see. A man hardly ever marries his first love, you know. There always seems an evil fortune connected with first loves.”
“How coldly philosophical you are, Dick! Is it because you’ve never been in love?”
“Never been in love?” he echoed. “Why, my dear old fellow, I’ve been in love a hundred times, but it’s never been sufficiently serious to cause me to pop the question. I’m quite catholic in my tastes, you see. I’m fond of women as a sex.”
What he said was perfectly true. He was a popular favourite among the English colony in Paris, and was an inveterate diner-out. Indeed, his well-set-up figure was constantly to be seen at all smart gatherings, and I had overheard many a dainty Parisienne whisper nice things about him behind her fan.