to me you
must understand how it occurred. You must know that I am deucedly
absentminded, and positively lost without my glass. And I had somebody
with me, so Dorothy said. Chartersea, I believe. And his Grace made me
think you were a cursed beggar. I make a point never to have to do with
'em."

"You are right, Mr. Manners," Comyn cut in dryly; "for I have known them
to be so persistently troublesome, when once encouraged, as to interfere
seriously with our arrangements."

"Eh!" Mr. Manners ejaculated, and then came to an abrupt pause, while I
wondered whether the shot had told. To relieve him I inquired after Mrs.
Manners's health.

"Ah, to be sure," he replied, beginning to fumble in his skirts; "London
agrees with her remarkably, and she is better than she has been for
years. And she is overjoyed at your most wonderful escape, Richard, as
are we all."

And he gave me a note. I concealed my eagerness as I took it and broke
the seal, to discover that it was not from Dorothy, but from Mrs.
Manners herself.

"My dear Richard" (so it ran), "I thank God with your dear
Grandfather over y'r Deliverance, & you must bring y'r Deliverer,
whom Dorothy describes as Courtly and Gentlemanly despite his
Calling, to dine with us this very Day, that we may express to him
our Gratitude. I know you are far too Sensible not to come to
Arlington Street. I subscribe myself, Richard, y'r sincere Friend,

"MARGARET MANNERS."

There was not so much as a postscript from Dolly, as I had hoped.
But the letter was whole-souled, like Mrs. Manners, and breathed the
affection she had always had for me. I honoured her the more that she
had not attempted to excuse Mr. Manners's conduct.

"You will come, Richard?" cried Mr. Marmaduke, with an attempt at
heartiness. "You must come, and the captain, too. For I hear, with
regret, that you are not to be long with us."

I caught another significant look from Comyn from between the window
curtains. But I accepted for myself, and conditionally for John Paul.
Mr. Manners rose to take his leave.

"Dorothy will be glad to see you," he said. "I often think, Richard,
that she tires of these generals and King's ministers, and longs for
a romp at Wilmot House again. Alas," he sighed, offering us a pinch of
snuff (which he said was the famous Number 37), "alas, she has had a
deal too much of attention, with his Grace of Chartersea and a dozen
others would to marry