“And why should a fellow be uncharitable?  If a man is to believe all that he hears, by George, they’re all much of a muchness.  For my part I never believe anything.  I always suppose every horse will run to win; and though there may be a cross now and again, that’s the surest line to go upon.  D’you understand me now?” Archie said that of course he understood him; but I fancy that Doodles had gone a little too deep for Archie’s intellect.

“I should say, drop this woman, and go at the widow yourself at once.”

“And lose all my seventy pounds for nothing!”

“You’re not soft enough to suppose that you’ll ever get it back again, I hope?” Archie assured his friend that he was not soft enough for any such hope as that, and then the two remained silent for a while, deeply considering the posture of the affair.  “I’ll tell you what I’ll do for you,” said Doodles; “and upon my word I think it will be the best thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“I’ll go to this woman myself.”

“What; to Lady Ongar?”

“No; but to the spy, as you call her.  Principals are never the best for this kind of work.  When a man has to pay the money himself he can never make so good a bargain as another can make for him.  That stands to reason.  And I can be blunter with her about it than you can; can go straight at it, you know; and you may be sure of this, she won’t get any money from me, unless I get the marbles for it.”

“You’ll take some with you, then?”

“Well, yes; that is, if it’s convenient.  We were talking of going two or three hundred pounds, you know, and you’ve only gone seventy as yet.  Suppose you hand me over the odd thirty.  If she gets it out of me easy, tell me my name isn’t Boodle.”

There was much in this that was distasteful to Captain Clavering, but at last he submitted, and handed over the thirty pounds to his friend.  Then there was considerable doubt whether the ambassador should announce himself by a note, but it was decided at last that his arrival should not be expected.  If he did not find the lady at home or disengaged on the first visit, or on the second, he might on the third or the fourth.  He was a persistent, patient little man, and assured his friend that he would certainly see Madam Gordeloup before a week had passed over their heads.

On the occasion of his first visit to Mount Street, Sophie Gordeloup was enjoying her retreat in the Isle of Wight.  When he called the second time she was in bed, the fatigue of her journey on the previous day—­the day on which she had actually risen at seven o’clock in the morning—­having oppressed her much.  She had returned in the cab alone, and had occupied herself much on the same evening.  Now that she was to be parted from her Julie, it was needful that she should be occupied.  She wrote a long letter to her brother—­much more confidential than her letters to him had lately been—­telling