was poor. They vowed I should not lose by my choice. Mr. Bordley offered
me a home, and added that I should have employment enough in the days
to come. Mr. Carroll pressed me likewise. And big-hearted Colonel Lloyd
desired to send me to King's College, as was my grandfather's wish,
where Will Fotheringay and my cousin Philip had been for a term. I might
make a barrister of myself. Mr. Swain alone was silent and thoughtful,
but I did not for an instant doubt that he would have done as much for
me.

Before we broke up for the evening the gentlemen plied me with questions
concerning the state of affairs in England, and the temper of his
Majesty and Parliament. I say without vanity that I was able to
enlighten them not a little, for I had learned a deeper lesson from the
set into which I had fallen in London than if I had become the confidant
of Rockingham himself. America was a long way from England in those
days. I regretted that I had not arrived in London in time to witness
Lord Chatham's dramatic return to politics in January, when he had
completed the work of Junius, and broken up the Grafton ministry. But
I told them of the debate I had heard in St. Stephen's, and made them
laugh over Mr. Fox's rescue of the King's friends, and the hustling of
Mr. Burke from the Lords.

They were very curious, too, about Mr. Manners; and I was put to much
ingenuity to answer their queries and not reveal my own connection with
him. They wished to know if it were true that some nobleman had flung a
bottle at his head in a rage because Dorothy would not marry him, as Dr.
Courtenay's letter had stated. I replied that it was so. I did not add
that it was the same nobleman who had been pitched into the Serpentine.
Nor did I mention the fight at Vauxhall. I made no doubt these things
would come to their ears, but I did not choose to be the one to tell
them. Mr. Swain remained after the other gentlemen, and asked me if I
would come with him to Gloucester Street; that he had something to say
to me. We went the long way thither, and I was very grateful to him
for avoiding Marlboro' Street, which must needs bring me painful
recollections. He said little on the way.

I almost expected to see Patty come tripping down from the vine-covered
porch with her needlework in her hand, and the house seemed strangely
empty without her. Mr. Swain had his negro, Romney, place chairs for
us under the apple tree, and bring out pipes and sangaree. The air was