Calling for my greatcoat, and paying no heed to the jeers of the company for leaving before the toasts and the play, I fairly ran to Arlington Street.  I was in a passion of remorse.  Comyn had been but just.  Granting, indeed, that she had refused to marry me, was that any reason why I should desert my life-long friend and playmate?  A hundred little tokens of her affection for me rose to mind, and last of all that rescue from Castle Yard in the face of all Mayfair.  And in that hour of darkness the conviction that something was wrong came back upon me with redoubled force.  Her lack of colour, her feverish actions, and the growing slightness of her figure, all gave me a pang, as I connected them with that scene on the balcony over the Park.

The house was darkened, and a coach was in front of it.

“Yessir,” said the footman, “Miss Manners has been quite ill.  She is now some better, and Dr. James is with her.  Mrs. Manners begs company will excuse her.”

And Mr. Marmaduke?  The man said, with as near a grin as he ever got, that the marster was gone to Mrs. Cornelys’s assembly.  As I turned away, sick at heart, the physician, in his tie-wig and scarlet cloak, came out, and I stopped him.  He was a testy man, and struck the stone an impatient blow with his staff.

“’Od’s life, sir.  I am besieged day and night by you young gentlemen.  I begin to think of sending a daily card to Almack’s.”

“Sir, I am an old friend of Miss Manners,” I replied, “having grown up with her in Maryland—­”

“Are you Mr. Carvel?” he demanded abruptly, taking his hat from his arm.

“Yes,” I answered, surprised.  In the gleam of the portico lanthorn he scrutinized me for several seconds.

“There are some troubles of the mind which are beyond the power of physic to remedy, Mr. Carvel,” said he.  “She has mentioned your name, sir, and you are to judge of my meaning.  Your most obedient, sir.  Good night, sir.”

And he got into his coach, leaving me standing where I was, bewildered.

That same fear of being alone, which has driven many a man to his cups, sent me back to Brooks’s for company.  I found Fox and Comyn seated at a table in the corner of the drawing-room, for once not playing, but talking earnestly.  Their expressions when they saw me betrayed what my own face must have been.

“What is it?” cried Comyn, half rising; “is she—­is she—­”

“No, she is better,” I said.

He looked relieved.

“You must have frightened him badly, Jack,” said Fox.

I flung myself into a chair, and Fox proposed whist, something unusual for him.  Comyn called for cards, and was about to go in search of a fourth, when we all three caught sight of the Duke of Chartersea in the door, surveying the room with a cold leisure.  His eye paused when in line with us, and we were seized with astonishment to behold him making in our direction.