In answer to the dozen questions I showered upon her, she replied that Dorothy’s malady was in no wise dangerous, so Dr. James had said, and undoubtedly arose out of the excitement of a London season.  As I knew, Dorothy was of the kind that must run and run until she dropped.  She had no notion of the measure of her own strength.  Mrs. Manners hoped that, in a fortnight, she would be recovered sufficiently to be removed to one of the baths.

“She wishes me to thank you for the flowers, Richard.  She has them constantly by her.  And bids me tell you how sorry she is that she is compelled to miss so much of your visit to England.  Are you enjoying London, Richard?  I hear that you are well liked by the best of company.”

I left, prodigiously cast down, and went directly to Mr. Wedgwood’s, to choose the prettiest set of tea-cups and dishes I could find there.  I pitied Mrs. Manners from my heart, and made every allowance for her talk with me, knowing the sorrow of her life.  Here was yet another link in the chain of the Chartersea evidence.  And I made no doubt that Mr. Manner’s brutal desertion at such a time must be hard to bear.  I continued my visits of inquiry, nearly always meeting some person of consequence, or the footman of such, come on the same errand as myself.  And once I encountered the young man she had championed against his Grace at Lady Tankerville’s.

Rather than face the array of anxieties that beset me, I plunged recklessly into the gayeties—­nay, the excesses—­of Mr. Charles Fox and his associates.  I paid, in truth, a very high price for my friendship with Mr. Fox.  But, since it did not quite ruin me, I look back upon it as cheaply bought.  To know the man well, to be the subject of his regard, was to feel an infatuation in common with the little band of worshippers which had come with him from Eton.  They remained faithful to him all his days, nor adversity nor change of opinion could shake their attachment.  They knew his faults, deplored them, and paid for them.  And this was not beyond my comprehension, tho’ many have wondered at it.  Did he ask me for five hundred pounds,—­which he did,—­I gave it freely, and would gladly have given more, tho’ I saw it all wasted in a night when the dice rolled against him.  For those honoured few of whom I speak likewise knew his virtues, which were quite as large as the faults, albeit so mingled with them that all might not distinguish.

I attended some of the routs and parties, to all of which, as a young colonial gentleman of wealth and family, I was made welcome.  I went to a ball at Lord Stanley’s, a mixture of French horns and clarionets and coloured glass lanthorns and candles in gilt vases, and young ladies pouring tea in white, and musicians in red, and draperies and flowers ad libitum.  There I met Mr. Walpole, looking on very critically.  He was the essence of friendliness, asked after my equerry, and said I had done well to ship him to America.  At the opera, with Lord Ossory