Then Maurice instantly reflected that, if this thing were really done, it was not for him to protest.

“Of course I say nothing against the young lady—­certainly not.  I thought she was very pleasant the night I was introduced to her, and nice-looking too.  But I had no idea you were taken in that quarter, Linn; none—­hence the surprise.  I used to think you were in the happy position which Landor declared impossible.  What were the lines?  I haven’t seen them for twenty years, but they were something like this: 

   ’Fair maiden, when I look on thee,
    I wish that I were young and free;
    But both at once, ah, who could be?’

I thought you were ’both at once’—­and very well content.  But supposing you have given up your freedom, why should that vex and trouble you?  The engagement time is said to be the happiest period of a man’s life; what is wrong in your case?”

Lionel took a turn or two up and down the room.

“Well, I will tell you the truth, Maurice,” he blurted out, at last.  “I got engaged to her in a fit of restlessness or caprice, or some such ridiculous nonsense, and I don’t regret it; I mean, I am willing to stand by it; but that is not enough for her, and I can look forward to nothing but a perpetual series of differences and quarrels.  She expects me to play Harry Thornhill off the stage, I suppose.”

Mangan looked at him for some time.

“Even between friends,” he said, slowly, “there are some things it is difficult to talk about with safety.  Of course you know what an outsider would say:  that you had got into a devil of a mess; that you had blundered into an engagement with a woman whom you find you don’t want to marry.”

“Well, is there anything uncommon in that?” Lionel demanded.  “Is that an unusual experience in human life?  But I don’t admit as much, in my case.  I am quite willing to marry her, so long as she keeps her temper, and doesn’t expect me to play the fool.  I dare say we shall get on well enough, like other people, after the fateful deed is done.  In the meantime,” he added, with a forced laugh—­“in the meantime, I find myself now and again wishing I was a sailor brave and bold, careering round the Cape of Good Hope in a gale of wind, and with no loftier aspiration in my mind than a pint of rum and a well-filled pipe.”

“Faith, I think that’s just where you ought to be,” said Mangan, dryly, “instead of in this town of London, at the present moment.  I declare you’ve quite bewildered me.  If you had told me you were engaged to that tall salmon-fishing girl—­you used to talk about her a good deal, you know—­or to that fascinating young Italian creature—­and I’ve seen before now how easily the gentle friend and companion can be transformed into a sweetheart—­I should have been ready with all kinds of pretty speeches and good wishes.  But Miss Burgoyne of the New Theatre?  Linn, my boy, I’ve discovered what’s the matter with you, and I can prescribe an absolutely certain cure.”