Unless one is wealthy there is no use in being a charming fellow. Romance is the privilege of the rich, not the profession of the unemployed. The poor should be practical and ordinary. It is better to have a steady income than to be fascinating. Hughie Erskine never understood these truths. Poor Hughie! He was wonderfully good-looking, with his brown hair, his clear-cut profile, and his grey eyes. He was as popular with men as with women, and he had every quality except that of making money. His father had left him a cavalry sword and a History of the War in fifteen volumes. Hughie hung the sword above his mirror, put the books on a shelf, and lived on the small income that an old aunt allowed him. He had tried everything. He had gone on the Stock Exchange for six months; but what was a butterfly to do among the bulls and bears? He had been a tea-merchant for a little longer, but had soon tired of tea. Then he had tried selling dry sherry. That did not answer either. So at last he became nothing, a charming, useless young man with a perfect profile and no real profession. Worse still, he was in love. The girl he loved was Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired colonel. Laura adored him, and he was ready to kiss the strings of her shoes. They were the handsomest couple in London, and had not a penny between them. The colonel was very fond of Hughie, but would not hear of any engagement. "Come to me, my boy, when you have ten thousand pounds of your own," he used to say, "and then we will talk." On such days Hughie looked very gloomy, and had to go to Laura for comfort.