I had previously learned that my ragged client’s wife was in England, living in a splendid house in Hyde Park Gardens, under her maiden name.  On the following day the Earl of Owing called upon me, wanting five thousand pounds by five o’clock the same evening.  It was a case of life or death with him, so I made my terms and took advantage of his pressure to execute a coup de main. I proposed that he should drive me home to receive the money, calling at Mrs. Molinos in Hyde Park Gardens, on our way.  I knew that the coronet and liveries of his father, the Marquis, would ensure me an audience with Mrs. Molinos Fitz-Roy.

My scheme answered.  I was introduced into the lady’s presence.  She was, and probably is, a very stately, handsome woman, with a pale complexion, high solid forehead, regular features, thin, pinched, self-satisfied mouth.  My interview was very short.  I plunged into the middle of the affair, but had scarcely mentioned the word husband, when she interrupted me with, “I presume you have lent this profligate person money, and want me to pay you.”  She paused, and then said, “He shall not have a farthing.”  As she spoke, her white face became scarlet.

“But, Madam, the man is starving.  I have strong reasons for believing he is entitled to property, and if you refuse any assistance, I must take other measures.”  She rang the bell, wrote something rapidly on a card, and, as the footman appeared, pushed it towards me across the table, with the air of touching a toad, saying, “There, sir, is the address of my solicitors; apply to them if you think you have any claim.  Robert, show the person out, and take care he is not admitted again.”

So far I had effected nothing; and, to tell the truth, felt rather crest-fallen under the influence of that grand manner peculiar to certain great ladies and to all great actresses.

My next visit was to the attorneys, Messrs. Leasem and Fashun, of Lincoln’s Inn Square; and there I was at home.  I had had dealings with the firm before.  They are agents for half the aristocracy, who always run in crowds like sheep after the same wine-merchants, the same architects, the same horse-dealers, and the same law-agents.  It may be doubted whether the quality of law and land management they get on this principle is quite equal to their wine and horses.  At any rate, my friends of Lincoln’s Inn, like others of the same class, are distinguished by their courteous manners, deliberate proceedings, innocence of legal technicalities, long credit and heavy charges.  Leasem, the elder partner, wears powder and a huge bunch of seals, lives in Queen Square, drives a brougham, gives the dinners and does the cordial department.  He is so strict in performing the latter duty, that he once addressed a poacher who had shot a Duke’s keeper, as “my dear creature,” although he afterwards hung him.

Fashun has chambers in St. James Street, drives a cab, wears a tip, and does the grand haha style.