m for many a month.

'Luigi! prepare to leave town to-morrow morning for an indefinite
period. I shall only take you. I must dress immediately, and order
breakfast and my horses.'

The Duke of St. James had communicated the state of his affairs to Lord
Fitz-pompey, who was very shocked, offered his best services, and also
asked him to dinner, to meet the Marquess of Marylebone. The young
Duke had also announced to his relatives, and to some of his particular
friends, that he intended to travel for some time, and he well knew that
their charitable experience would understand the rest. They understood
everything. The Marquess's party daily increased, and 'The Universe' and
'The New World' announced that the young Duke was 'done up.'

There was one person to whom our hero would pay a farewell visit before
he left London. This was Lady Caroline St. Maurice. He had called at
Fitz-pompey House one or two mornings in the hope of finding her alone,
and to-day he determined to be more successful. As he stopped his horse
for the last time before his uncle's mansion, he could not help calling
to mind the first visit which he had paid after his arrival. But the
door opens, he enters, he is announced, and finds Lady Caroline alone.

Ten minutes passed away, as if the morning ride or evening ball were
again to bring them together. The young Duke was still gay and still
amusing. At last he said with a smile,

'Do you know, Caroline, this is a farewell visit, and to you?'

She did not speak, but bent her head as if she were intent upon some
work, and so seated herself that her countenance was almost hid.

'You have heard from my uncle,' continued he, laughing; 'and if you
have not heard from him, you have heard from somebody else, of my little
scrape. A fool and his money, you know, Caroline, and a short reign and
a merry one. When we get prudent we are wondrous fond of proverbs. My
reign has certainly been brief enough; with regard to the merriment,
that is not quite so certain. I have little to regret except your
society, sweet coz!'

'Dear George, how can you talk so of such serious affairs! If you knew
how unhappy, how miserable I am, when I hear the cold, callous world
speak of such things with indifference, you would at least not imitate
their heartlessness.'

'Dear Caroline!' said he, seating himself at her side.

'I cannot help thinking,' she continued, 'that you have not sufficiently
exerted yourself about these emb