I tried to express my gratitude.  But he sighed and wished me good night, bidding me get some rest.

I had scarce finished my breakfast the next morning when I heard a loud rat-tat-tat upon the street door-surely the footman of some person of consequence.  And Scipio was in the act of announcing the names when, greatly to his disgust, the visitors themselves rushed into my bedroom and curtailed the ceremony.  They were none other than Dr. Courtenay and my Lord Comyn himself.  His Lordship had no sooner seen me than he ran to the bed, grasped both my hands and asked me how I did, declaring he would not have gone to yesterday’s hunt had he been permitted to visit me.

“Richard,” cried the doctor, “your fame has sprung up like Jonah’s gourd.  The Gazette is but just distributed.  Here’s for you!  ’Twill set the wags a-going, I’ll warrant.”

He drew the newspaper from his pocket and began to read, stopping now and anon to laugh: 

“Rumour hath it that a Young Gentleman of Quality of this Town, who is possessed of more Valour than Discretion, and whose Skill at Fence and in the Field is beyond his Years, crossed Swords on Wednesday Night with a Young Nobleman from the Thunderer.  The Cause of this Deplorable Quarrel, which had its Origin at the Ball, is purported to have been a Young Lady of Wit and Beauty. (& we doubt it not; for, alas! the Sex hath Much to answer for of this Kind.)

“The Gentlemen, with their Seconds, repaired after the Assembly to the Coffee House.  ’Tis said upon Authority that H-s L-dsh-p owes his Life to the Noble Spirit of our Young American, who cast down his Blade rather than sheathe it in his Adversary’s Body, thereby himself receiving a Grievous, the’ happily not Mortal, Wound.  Our Young Gentleman is become the Hero of the Town, and the Subject of Prodigious Anxiety of all the Ladies thereof.”

“There’s for you, my lad!” says he; “Mr. Green has done for you both cleverly.”

“Upon my soul,” I cried, raising up in bed, “he should be put in the gatehouse for his impudence!  My Lord,—­”

“Don’t ‘My Lord’ me,” says Comyn; “plain ‘Jack’ will do.”

There was no resisting such a man:  and I said as much.  And took his hand and called him ‘Jack,’ the doctor posing before the mirror the while, stroking his rues.  “Out upon you both,” says he, “for a brace of sentimental fools!”

“Richard,” said Comyn, presently, with a roguish glance at the doctor, “there were some reason in our fighting had it been over a favour of Miss Manners.  Eh?  Come, doctor,” he cried, “you will break your neck looking for the reflection of wrinkles.  Come, now, we must have little Finery’s letter.  I give you my word Chartersea is as ugly as all three heads of Cerberus, and as foul as a ship’s barrel of grease.  I tell you Miss Dorothy would sooner marry you.”

“And she might do worse, my Lord,” the doctor flung back, with a strut.