“By the way, Norton, that was a d——­d cool fellow that pinked me; he did the thing in quite a self-possessed and gentlemanly way, too.  However it was my own fault; I forced him into it.  You must know I had reason to suppose that he was endeavoring to injure me in a certain quarter; in short, that he had made some progress in the affections of Lucy Gourlay.  I saw the attentions he paid to her at Paris, when I was sent to the right about.  In short—­but hang it—­there—­that will do—­let us talk no more about it—­I escaped narrowly—­that is all.”

“And I must leave you, my lord, for I assure you I have many things to attend to.  Those creditors are unreasonable scoundrels, and must be put off with soft words and hard promises for some time longer.  That Irish wine-merchant of yours, however, is a model to every one of his tribe.”

“Ah, that is because he knows the old peer.  Do you know, Tom, after all, I don’t think it so disreputable a thing to be termed a respectable old nobleman; but still it indicates want of individual character.  Now Tom, I think I have a character.  I mean an original character.  Don’t every one almost say—­I allude, of course, to every one of sense and penetration—­Dunroe’s a character—­quite an original—­an enigma—­a sphinx—­an inscription that cannot be deciphered—­an illegible dog—­eh—­don’t they, Tom?”

“Not a doubt of it, my lord.  Even I, who ought to know you so well, can make nothing of you.”

“Well, but after all, Tom, my father’s name overshadows a great number of my venialities.  Dunroe is wild, they say, but then he is the son of a most respectable old nobleman; and so, many of them shrug and pity, when they would otherwise assail and blame.”

“And I hope to live long enough to see you a most respectable old ‘character’ yet, my dear Dunroe.  I must go as your representative to these d-----d ravenous duns.  But mark me, comport yourself in your father’s and sister’s presence as a young man somewhat meditating upon the reformation of his life, so that a favorable impression may be made here, and a favorable report reach the baronet’s fair daughter. Au revoir.”

CHAPTER XX.  Interview between Lords Cullamore, Dunroe, and Lady Emily

—­Tom Norton’s Aristocracy fails Him—­His Reception by Lord Cullamore.

At the hour appointed, Lord Dunroe’s father and sister arrived.  The old peer, as his son usually, but not in the most reverential spirit, termed him, on entering his sleeping chamber, paused for a moment in the middle of the room, as if to ascertain his precise state of health; but his sister, Lady Emily, with all the warmth of a young and affectionate heart, pure as the morning dew-drop, ran to his bedside, and with tears in her eyes, stooped down and kissed him, exclaiming at the same time,

“My dear Dunroe; but no—­I hate those cold and formal titles—­they are for the world, but not for brother and sister.  My dear John, how is your wound?  Thank God, it is not dangerous, I hear.  Are you better?  Will you soon be able to rise?  My dear brother, how I was alarmed on hearing it; but there is another kiss to help to cure you.”