“Nor I, Mr. Dix,” I replied, unreasonably enough.  “To speak truth, I have never had one.  You have my Lord Comyn’s signature to protect you,” I went on ill-naturedly, for I had not had enough sleep.  “And in case Mr. Carvel protests, which is unlikely and preposterous, you shall have ten percentum on your money until I can pay you.  That should be no poor investment.”

He apologized.  But he smoothed out the paper on his knee.

“It is only right to tell you, Mr. Carvel, that you have spent one thousand eight hundred and thirty-seven odd pounds, in home money, which is worth more than your colonial.  Your grandfather’s balance with me was something less than one thousand five hundred, as I made him a remittance in December last.  I have advanced the rest.  And yesterday,” he went on, resolutely for him, “yesterday I got an order for five hundred more.”

And he handed me the paper.  I must own that the figures startled me.  I laid it down with a fine show of indifference.

“And so you wish me to stop drawing?  Very good, Mr. Dix.”

He must have seen some threat implied, though I meant none.  He was my very humble servant at once, and declared he had called only to let me know where I stood.  Then he bowed himself out, wishing me luck with the horse he had heard of, and I lighted my pipe with his accompt.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE SERPENTINE

Whether it was Mr. Dix. that started me reflecting, or my Lord Carlisle’s warning, or a few discreet words from young Lady Carlisle herself, I know not.  At all events, I made a resolution to stop high play, and confine myself to whist and quinze and picquet.  For I conceived a notion, enlarged by Mr. Fox, that I had more than once fallen into the tender clutches of the hounds.  I was so reflecting the morning following Lord Carlisle’s dinner, when Banks announced a footman.

“Mr. Manners’s man, sir,” he added significantly, and handed me a little note.  I seized it, and, to hide my emotion, told him to give the man his beer.

The writing was Dorothy’s, and some time passed after I had torn off the wrapper before I could compose myself to read it.

“So, Sir, the Moment I am too ill to watch you you must needs lapse into Wilde & Flity Doings, for thus y’rs are call’d even in London.  Never Mind how y’r Extravigancies are come to my Ears Sir.  One Matter I have herd that I am Most Concerned about, & I pray you, my Dear Richard do not allow y’r Recklessness & Contemt for Danger to betray you into a Stil more Amazing Follie or I shall be very Miserable Indeed.  I have Hopes that the Report is at Best a Rumour & you must sit down & write me that it is Sir that my Minde may be set at Rest.  I fear for you Vastly & I beg you not Riske y’r Life Foolishly & this for the Sake of one who subscribes herself y’r Old Playmate & Well-Wisher Dolly.