When the three young men arrived at the age of twenty-one things began to happen. If things happen at twenty-one they are almost always good things. If ‘anything happens’ at sixty, it is generally followed by a procession in black. Fortune is a woman, and may therefore only be wooed by the young and comely.

     The first thing to happen was that Tommy’s uncle behaved as an uncle should — he admitted his nephew to a Share. ‘It will now be expected of me,’ said Tommy, ‘to leave this deserted hole and live in chambers.’

     He had developed aristocratic leanings. He had long since discovered the West End and club-land; he used to go there and watch the members walk up and down the steps of theirpalaces; he used to let his imagination loose over the delicious wickedness that he imagined to be going on within them — the gambling, card-playing, champagne-drinking, and bacchanalian revels which, as everybody knows, make Pall Mall horrible by day and night for quiet people. He ardently desired to be admitted into this fellowship. The first step must be, certainly, to migrate into fashionable quarters.

     The other two remained still in clerkery. But they were advanced; they had been discovered; they now drew substantial pay and did responsible work — young men who know foreign languages, are not so plentiful in the City, they command a price. This increase of income brought plenty and comfort to two houses in the village.

     ‘My son,’ said Mr. Massey, who was always sanguine, ‘will do well; he will go farther even than his father, He may even rival vou. Colliber.’

     Of course the fiction of glory was still maintained.

     ‘A clear head and a sagacious eye.’ said Sir Charles. ‘The young man will be a credit to us, no doubt. I hope, Massey, for your sake, that he may rival any of us — any of us.’

     ‘He certainly will,’ said Mr. Colliber, grimly, ‘if he takes up with any of his father’s projects.’

     Mr. Massey was not offended, because he believed in his projects. ‘The boy might do worse,’ he said, ‘he might do worse.’

     It was somewhere about this time, too, that Claire became conscious of a change in the behaviour of the young men. The old camaraderie disappeared; they no longer treated her quite as an equal; little by little they began to observe a respect and deference towards her quite unknown in the old days. Olinthus resumed his visits and even brought gifts. Allen seemed to think that her opinion was worth asking on the only subjects he cared to talk about. Will paid her on every occasion the petits soins which girls like.

     Perhaps she would not have wondered had she realised the change which a few years had accomplished in herself. She was now eighteen years of age, and at least three inches taller than her father. She had the sloping shoulders of a Frenchwoman, with the sweet face, delicately coloured, not pale, of an English girl. Her hair was black like the hair of a Parisienne; her eyes preserved the deep, full, limpid blue which seems to belong to English eyes; her voice was low and full like her father’s; her features were as sharp and clear-cut as his; the grace of her walk, the little quicknesses of gesture, the delicacy of her fingers, were altogether French. No one but a Frenchwoman could dress so beautifully with materials so cheap and on an allowance so exiguous.

     It was no wonder that the young men fell in love with her. The old, who are even more ready to appreciate beauty than the young, were of course in love with her, Sir Charles made her pretty compliments, and told her how he had received a great many most beautiful young ladies at his Mansion House balls, but none so beautiful as herself. Even Mr. Colliber, who was believed to have no eyes for anything but the price lists. congratulated her father on the girl’s beauty and wished himself forty years younger. The lads would have been insensate logs had they not fallen in love. They were not insensate, therefore——

     Some girls would have recognised the symptoms — Claire did not. She never thought about such things as love at all. These young men had been her companions all her days; they were her brothers; Will and Allen were part, the greater part, of her life; of course they loved her as she loved them. Her father observed these indications with discernment. Clearly there was something coming. He remembered the race for the orange, and smiled. Which would Claire accept of the three? He expected that a formal proposal would be brought to himself, perhaps through the respectable parents. But he waited in vain. The respectable parents did not appear at all. Nor did the young men speak to him. He then remembered that the marriage customs of the English in some respects differ from those of France. Therefore he sat outside, so to speak, and watched.

     He observed that Olinthus called twice a week, regularly; that he evidently wished this regularity to be marked as meaning intentions; that he always brought something, such as gloves, fruit, neckties, or flowers; that he laid his gifts upon the table without a word and presently departed after a few attempts at speech; also that Claire gathered up the gifts with a careless hand and tossed them aside when he was gone.

     He perceived, next, that Allen and Will were rapidly approaching that stage at which jealousy begins. It was quite customary for them to meet at the Cottage, but now they came every night; sometimes they came together, but often separately.

     In a beautiful map which shows the progress of the pilgrim of Love, there occurs, quite early in the pilgrimage, L’Ile des Petits Soins lying quite close to the Terre d’Admiration. It is succeeded by a black and grisly district, horrid with woods and dreadful mountains, as they used to say before the taste for the picturesque was awakened; it is called the Pays des Jaloux. Now, all these suitors were engaged among the gloomy defiles and black forests of this unpromising country. Tommy was the first to enter it, and the reason — as it seemed to him, not knowing that it was part of the pilgrimage — was the fact that Claire continued the old custom of walking with Allen in the forest, sometimes in the evening, alone with him. She had done this for many years, yet the enormity of the thing never occurred to Tommy until he began to consider the young lady as, in the sweet City parlance, his own property.

     Tommy did not resolve upon pursuing this affair without great consideration. Before finally deciding upon paying his addresses to Claire, he surveyed womankind from China to Peru, reckoning from east to west, or as much of that space as he could command, including the young ladies of Loughton, Chingford, Buckhurst Hill, Chigwell, Theydon Bois, Epping, and even Leytonstone, going to church on Sunday mornings with no other object than the consideration of the other sex. He stood in the Porch and watched them coming out, seeing them in this way at their best, with their nicest frocks on and in their sweetest looks. He came to the deliberate conclusion that of all the girls Claire was the prettiest, and the best dressed, and the nicest. He then informed his mother of his design, not asking her counsel or permission, but announcing his will, like the great Bashaw.

     ‘Only a governess, my dear?’ she whispered.

     ‘A beautiful woman, mother, in the eyes of her lover is the equal of a countess.’ He thrust his hand into his bosom as he uttered this magnificent sentiment, and wished himself a duke, in order to illustrate it the more splendidly.

     ‘Remember, Olinthus, you are a Gallaway.’

     ‘I do not forget it,’ he replied grandly. ‘A man raises his wife to his own position. As a partner in the Concern, I already enjoy a position, which I shall confer upon my wife. You may prepare the girls, mother, for the news. I hope they will like their sister-in-law, Tell ’em,’ he added, with simplicity, ‘if they don’t like her, they may go and live somewhere else.’

     ‘You might look higher, Olinthus.’

     ‘I might,’ he replied. ‘With manner and appearance, and a partnership in a steady Concern, one might look anywhere. But I am satisfied. Give me Claire. My tastes are simple. Of course, as regards her father some arrangement must be come to. He may come to the house once a week or so in the middle of the day, when I am in the City, or on Sunday to dinner, or perhaps supper will do, with a bit of salad and the cold beef — all that can be easily arranged.’

     ‘Allen,’ said Will, one morning in the train.

     Allen changed colour because he foresaw that there was going to be an explanation.

     ‘How long, Allen, is this kind of thing to go on?’

     Allen shook his head helplessly.

     ‘I’ve been thinking, old man,’ Will went on, ‘how to settle it. We can’t afford to quarrel, we two. If Claire takes either of us, she must become the other fellow’s sister. See?’

     ‘Yes,’ said Allen, she must be his sister.’

     ‘Very well, then. Now I’ve been watching Claire.’

     ‘So have I,’ said Allen.

     ‘Let us compare notes, then. I say, for my part, that she does not suspect anything.’

     ‘I don’t think she does,’ said Allen.

     ‘But the time has come for her to be told. Now I’ve got a plan. We might toss up who should speak first; but it seems hardly fair to leave such a serious thing to chance. Let us both write to her, and let us send the letters by the same post.’

     This was reasonable, Neither, in this way, could have the least advantage over the other, and Claire would learn the truth.

     *lsquo;Of course,’ said Will a little bitterly, ‘you are the cleverer, Allen, and you have been most with her. She is sure to take you. But I should like to let her know — just to let her know — that I’m not such an insensible ass as not to be in love with her. As for that, I’ve been in love with her *mdash; and so have you — ever since we were children together. There is no one else in the world that I could be in love with.’

     ‘But suppose she won’t have either of us?’ said Allen.

     ‘Then we shall go on just the same as now. Was there ever in poetry a girl with two lovers who would have neither?’

     ‘Remember, we are only two City clerks.’

     ‘That is nothing. We are going to be rich City merchants. I shall change my name to Whittington. You shall be a great poet as well as a great merchant.’

     ‘When, Will, when?’

     ‘Soon, old boy — very soon; while we are young and can enjoy things. Don’t you feel sometimes as if there were ten thousand things wanting to make you quite happy? Claire, to begin with; and then pictures, music, and books, and the theatre, and dancing and singing, and sometimes travelling; but Claire to begin with!’

     ‘And without Claire?’

     Will was silent awhile. The light went out of his face.

     ‘Without Claire — nothing. Allen, don’t you see how she has been everything to us? What should we have been without her and her father? I tremble, sometimes, to think what we have escaped.’

     ‘Can’t we wait a little?’ asked Allen. ‘Everything is so pleasant. It seems a pity to disturb pleasant things.’

     Will shook his head.

     ‘No; the pleasantness is disturbed. You glared at me after church last Sunday. That kind of thing can’t go on.’

     ‘As for that, you looked as if you were going to knock my head off yesterday evening.’

     ‘I felt like it,’ said Will.

     They wrote their letters that same day. First they sat down to the table opposite to each other and resolutely took pen and paper. Then they looked at each other, thoughtfully.

     ‘What are you going to say, Allen?’ asked Will with anxiety.

     ‘What shall you say?’ he replied.

     ‘If I was a poet — but no, poetry is only for make-believe. Everything real is prose.’

     ‘They applied themselves with determination to thought. Neither had any experience in love-letters.

     ‘Allen,’ said Will, throwing down his pen, ‘it’s no use, I can’t write it. I can’t find words to say. Have you written your letter?’

     Allen shook his head. At such a moment, when he should have found the most glowing words, his brain was barren; the reason being that he was not satisfied with the plain truth, which was in itself full of poetry, and wanted no more gilding than the crown of England.

     ‘The thing is ridiculous,’ cried Will. ‘Look here: we will write one letter and both sign it.’ He seized the pen again and wrote without fine words the simple truth.

     ‘DEAREST CLAIRE, — We both love you; that you know already. We both desire, more than anything in the world, to be your husband. But you can only grant that to one of us, and the other must remain your brother. That one will go on loving you as a man loves his sister.
     ‘Your lovers,
     ‘ALLEN ENGLEDEW,
     ‘WILL MASSEY.’

     ‘There!’ said Will, ‘We have told her the truth in plain words. It is better than any dressing up. We will post this in the City to-morrow morning, so that she will have it in the fore-noon, and have time to think of her answer.’

     ‘But neither of us,’ said Allen, ‘must go to the Cottage till an answer is received.’

     That night Will passed in watchfulness, because he distrusted the strength of the fraternal bond. Would the yearning which had of late possessed him so strongly, to take Claire in his arms and keep her there, cease, even if she were to choose Allen?

     His rival slept soundly after thinking how the situation would fall into verse, and fitting some beautiful thoughts which could be put on paper when he found time.

     Next morning they met Tommy at the station. They observed that he was fidgety in manner, as if he had something to communicate. He generally went first class, as a Partner should; but today he got into a third-class carriage with them.

     ‘I’ve got to tell you fellows something,’ he said, with a very crimson blush.

     ‘Go on, Tommy,’ said Will encouragingly. Neither of them ever paid Tommy the deference due to a Partner.

     ‘It’s about Claire.’ The other two started and looked guilty. ‘Yes, about Claire. I think it right to tell you, because you go to the Cottage so often and seem to consider the place your own property, that after today you will have to wait till you are invited.’

     ‘Indeed, Tommy! Why?’

     ‘Because I’ve written to Claire — henceforth Mademoiselle Philipon to everybody except myself, if you please. Remember that — I’ve written to her, and the letter is in my pocket, asking her — in fact — to become Mrs. Gallaway.’

     ‘Oho!’ cried Will — what did they both laugh for? — ‘And the letter is in your pocket?’

     ‘In my pocket. I’ve consented to waive the difference in rank, and have offered her — my hand.’ He held it out, a white, fat hand, with the same expression upon it as upon his face. Everybody knows this peculiarity in hands. It was a carefully groomed hand, too, with three rings. ‘My mother,’ he went on, ‘is going to break it to the girls, and will, of course, call upon Cl —— I mean Mademoiselle Philipon — as soon as she has answered my letter.’

     ‘Upon my word, Tommy,’ said Allen, ‘you are very good and generous.’

     ‘A Partner in such a Concern as ours might look higher. But never mind. I thought I’d tell you both, because we are old friends, and because, you see, when a man’s engagecl, he can’t have other fellows hanging round his girl.’

     ‘I see,’ said Will. ‘It was very considerate of you to tell us. And now, Tommy, one good turn deserves another. So you must know that Allen and I have both written to her as well, and made precisely the same offer. We all start fair.’

     ‘You’ve written too?’ Tommy turned very red.

     ‘We’ve written, too. Claire — no — for you, Mademoiselle Philipon — will net the offers of all three at the same time.’

     ‘I call this,’ said Tommy, in a great rage, ’confounded sharp practice.’

     ‘Why?’

     ‘Because you must have known that I meant business. Do you think I have been going there three times a week to have the pleasure of hearing her father talk French? You must have seen it. Anybody must have seen it.’

     ‘If,’ said Allen, ‘I had seen it, I should only have written or spoken sooner.’

     ‘Cheer up, Tommy,’ said Will. ’Perhaps Claire saw it, and that is, you know, the most important point.’

     Tommy sat glum and sulky — his friends, he felt, were not afraid of his rivalry — till the train arrived at Liverpool Street. Then he got down with dignity and went straight to the nearest pillar post, into which he dropped his letter.

     He really felt very much hurt, and seriously alarmed, because it never had occurred to him that the other two should also “mean business.” In the course of the day, however, he took heart, thinking that he was a Partner and they were only clerks; also that Allen might be a good-looking fellow enough, but he was lanky and wore glasses, and that Will was certainly too big a fellow to take any girl’s fancy.

     Claire received the letters when she came home from the school. She read them, and her heart began to beat and her lips to tremble. Because she felt, somehow, as if she loved two of them in exactly the same way. As for the third, she neither blushed nor trembled when she read his letter. She put it down gently, however, and smiled.

     When her father came in from the garden, she gave him the letters without a word.

     ‘Does my daughter wish to leave her father, yet?’ he said.

     She laid her arms about his neck and kissed him, with a tender love in her eyes.

     ‘What answer shall I give, my clear?’ he asked.

     ‘I don’t know.‘ She blushed and hid her face on his shoulder. ‘I have no answer.’

     ‘Allen? Will? Olinthus?’

     She made no reply.

     ‘Shall I send an answer, Claire? Shall I bid them wait?’

     ‘Oh ! yes. Let them wait.’

     ‘I mean for a certain period, dear. We will give them a little time to prove themselves. Will is certain to succeed if he gets a chance. Allen will be a poet. Olinthus will be an alderman. Let them wait.’

     He saw two of them and wrote to the third. To Allen and Will he said that they were bidden by Claire to supper the next evening, and at the supper they should have their answer. To Olinthus he said that no father could receive an offer of this kind without emotion. Would he, in person, receive Claire’s reply? If so, a supper awaited him at nine o’clock, after which he should learn her decision. Meantime, let him bring to the supper, which was to be a banquet worthy of so great an occasion, a heart of joy.

     ‘A banquet, and a heart of joy.’ There could be no doubt, thought Tommy, of the reply.

     ‘I suppose, mother,’ he said, showing her the letter, ‘that we may consider the thing as good as settled. After all, I doubt whether I’ve done the best for myself, eh?’

     ‘It’s a great honour for her,’ said his mother. ‘And I only hope she will show that she feels it, and not give herself airs.’

     ‘Yet she is, you know, really and truly, mother, a most beautiful girl. Isn’t she now?’

     ‘I am not denying her good looks, Olinthus. But my son should have got something better than good looks. An heiress, Olinthus, I had hoped for.’

     He smiled and stroked his chin.

     ‘It would have been pleasant to have married an heiress. Yet, what heiress could be half so beautiful as Claire? In love, mother,’ he said grandly, ‘we despise fortune, and think only of beauty. Think of that girl dressed as she ought to be. Oh!’