Where is Nancy?—­riling from the ground, and accosting me with looks of fury;—­Where is Nancy, Mr. Molesworth?

Really, Madam, that is a question I cannot positively answer;—­but, to be sincere, I believe she is on the road to Scotland.

Believe!—­So you would have me think you are not one of Fletcher’s clan.—­But, tell him from me, running to the trunk after her purse, and shaking it just at my ear,—­tell him, he shall never be a penny the better for this.

I took my hat, and looked towards the door, as if going.

Stop, Mr. Molesworth, (her voice somewhat lowered) why in so great a hurry?—­I once thought you my friend.  Pray inform me if Nancy was forced away;—­or, if me went willingly.

You have no right, Madam, after the treatment I have received, to expect an answer; but justice bids me declare her going off seemed a matter of choice.

Poor child!—­You was certainly trapann’d (and she put a handkerchief to her eyes).

I solemnly protest, Madam, I have seen your daughter but twice since she came to Bath.—­Last night, when coming from the Rooms, I saw her step into a chaise, followed by Mr. Fletcher.—­They beckoned me towards them, whispered the expedition they were going upon, and requested me to break the matter to you, and intercede for their pardon.—­My visit has not answered its salutary purpose—­I perceive it has not.  So saying I turned from her,—­knowing, by old acquaintance, how I was to play my cards, me being one of those kind of spirits which are never quell’d but by opposition.

After fetching me from the door, she promised to hear calmly what I had to say;—­and, tho’ no orator, I succeeded so well as to gain an assurance, she would see them at their return from Scotland.

I left the old Lady in tolerable good humour, and was smiling to myself, recollecting the bout I had passed, when, who should come towards me but Lord Michell,—­his countenance full-fraught with curiosity.

Well, George!—­dear George!—­what success in your embassy?—­I long to know the fate of honest Fletcher.—­Is he to loll in a coach and six?—­or, is the coroner’s inquest to bring in their verdict Lunacy?

A sweet alternative!—­As your Lordship’s assiduity has shewn the former is the highest pinnacle to which you would wish to lift a friend, I believe your most sanguine hopes are here answered.

Is it so!—­Well, if ever Fletcher offers up a prayer, it ought to be for you, Molesworth.

Vastly good, my Lord.—­What, before he prays for himself?—­This shews your Lordship’s very high notions of gratitude.

We have high notions of every thing.—­Bucks and bloods, as we are call’d,—­you may go to the devil before you will find a set of honester fellows.

To the Devil, my Lord!—­That’s true, I believe.

He was going to reply when the three choice spirits came up, and hurried him, away to the Tuns.