exquisite neatness the room was--rather effeminate, perhaps, in its attributes; but that was no sign of the Colonel's tastes, but of his popularity with the ladies. All those pretty things were their gifts. The tapestry on the chairs their work--the Sevres on the consoles--the clock on the mantel-shelf--the inkstand, paper-cutter, taper-stand on the writing-table--their birthday presents. Even the white woolly Maltese dog that sprang from the rug to welcome him--even the flowers in the jardiniere--even the tasteful cottage-piano, and the very music-stand beside it--and the card-trays, piled high with invitations,--were contributions from the forgiving sex to the unrequiting bachelor.
Surveying his apartment with a complacent air, the Colonel sank into his easy _fauteuil_, and drawing off his gloves leisurely said--
"No man has more friends than I have--never did I lose one--never did I sign a bill. Your father pursued a different policy--he signed many bills--and lost many friends." Lionel, much distressed, looked down, and evidently desired to have done with the subject. Not so the Colonel. That shrewd man, though he did not preach, had a way all his own, which was perhaps quite as effective as any sermon by a fashionable layman can be to an impatient youth.
"Yes," resumed the Colonel, "it is the old story. One always begins by being security to a friend. The discredit of the thing is familiarised to one's mind by the false show of generous confidence in another. Their what you have done for a friend, a friend should do for you;--a hundred or two would be useful now--you are sure to repay it in three months. To Youth the Future seems safe as the Bank of England, and distant as the peaks of Himalaya. You pledge your honour that in three months you will release your friend. The three months expire. To release the one friend, you catch hold of another--the bill is renewed, premium and interest thrown into the next pay-day--soon the account multiplies, and with it the honour dwindles--your NAME circulates from hand to hand on the back of doubtful paper--your name, which, in all money transactions, should grow higher and higher each year you live, falling down every month like the shares in a swindling
