fifty thousand had been swallowed by
Hauteville Castle: one hundred and twenty thousand by Hauteville House.
Ninety-six thousand had been paid for furniture. There were also some
awkward miscellanies which, in addition, exceeded the half-million.

This was smashing work; but castles and palaces, particularly of the
correctest style of architecture, are not to be had for nothing. The
Duke had always devoted the half-million to this object; but he had
intended that sum to be sufficient. What puzzled and what annoyed him
was a queer suspicion that his resources had been exhausted without
his result being obtained. He sent for Sir Carte, who gave every
information, and assured him that, had he had the least idea that a
limit was an object, he would have made his arrangements accordingly. As
it was, he assured the young Duke that he would be the Lord of the most
sumptuous and accurate castle, and of the most gorgeous and tasteful
palace, in Europe. He was proceeding with a cloud of words, when his
employer cut him short by a peremptory demand of the exact sum requisite
for the completion of his plans. Sir Carte was confused, and requested
time. The estimates should be sent in as quickly as possible. The clerks
should sit up all night, and even his own rest should not be an object,
any more than the Duke's purse. So they parted.

The Duke determined to run down to Brighton for change of scene.
He promised his bankers to examine everything on his return; in the
meantime, they were to make all necessary advances, and honour his
drafts to any amount.

He found the city of chalk and shingles not quite so agreeable as last
year. He discovered that it had no trees. There was there, also, just
everybody that he did not wish to see. It was one great St. James'
Street, and seemed only an anticipation of that very season which he
dreaded. He was half inclined to go somewhere else, but could not fix
upon any spot. London might be agreeable, as it was empty; but then
those confounded accounts awaited him. The Bird of Paradise was a sad
bore. He really began to suspect that she was little better than an
idiot: then, she ate so much, and he hated your eating women. He gladly
shuffled her off on that fool Count Frill, who daily brought his guitar
to Kemp Town. They just suited each other. What a madman he had been, to
have embarrassed himself with this creature! It would cost him a pretty
ransom now before he could obtain his freedom. How