“I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. This young man, whose features, though rather plain and coarse, bore the strongest impress of genius, and who had a dark gray, penetrating eye, so quick in its glances that it seemed to survey twenty objects at once, and yet only to fasten upon one, bore the honoured name of William Hogarth. He did not disturb any of this litter, but left it as a mark of his prowess. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. ’ To his intense satisfaction, mademoiselle burst into laughter.
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