That evening—­shall I confess it?—­I spent between the Green Park and Arlington Street, hoping for a glimpse of Miss Dolly returning from Kensington.

The next morning I proclaimed my intention of going to Mr. Dix.

“Send for him,” said the captain.  “Gentlemen never seek their men of affairs.”

“No,” I cried; “I can contain myself in this place no longer.  I must be moving.”

“As you will, Richard,” he replied, and giving me a queer, puzzled look he settled himself between the Morning Post and the Chronicle.

As I passed the servants in the lower hall, I could not but remark an altered treatment.  My friend the chamberlain, more pompous than ever, stood erect in the door with a stony stare, which melted the moment he perceived a young gentleman who descended behind me.  I heard him cry out “A chaise for his Lordship!” at which command two of his assistants ran out together.  Suspicion had plainly gripped his soul overnight, and this, added to mortified vanity at having been duped, was sufficient for him to allow me to leave the inn unattended.  Nor could I greatly blame him, for you must know, my dears, that at that time London was filled with adventurers of all types.

I felt a deal like an impostor, in truth, as I stepped into the street, disdaining to inquire of any of the people of the Star and Garter where an American agent might be found.  The day was gray and cheerless, the colour of my own spirits as I walked toward the east, knowing that the city lay that way.  But I soon found plenty to distract me.

To a lad such as I, bred in a quiet tho’ prosperous colonial town, a walk through London was a revelation.  Here in the Pall Mall the day was not yet begun, tho’ for some scarce ended.  I had not gone fifty paces from the hotel before I came upon a stout gentleman with twelve hours of claret inside him, brought out of a coffee-house and put with vast difficulty into his chair; and I stopped to watch the men stagger off with their load to St. James’s Street.  Next I met a squad of redcoated guards going to the palace, and after them a grand coach and six rattled over the Scotch granite, swaying to a degree that threatened to shake off the footmen clinging behind.  Within, a man with an eagle nose sat impassive, and I set him down for one of the king’s ministers.

Presently I came out into a wide space, which I knew to be Charing Cross by the statue of Charles the First which stood in the centre of it, and the throat of a street which was just in front of me must be the Strand.  Here all was life and bustle.  On one hand was Golden’s Hotel, and a crowded mail-coach was dashing out from the arch beneath it, the horn blowing merrily; on the other hand, so I was told by a friendly man in brown, was Northumberland House, the gloomy grandeur whereof held my eyes for a time.  And I made bold to ask in what district were those who had dealings with the colonies.  He scanned me with a puzzling look of commiseration.