“Why bother over matters that are past and gone?  I would have borne an hundred such trials to have you come to me as you came to-day, Dorothy.  And I shall surely see you again,” I said, trying to speak lightly; “and your mother, to whom you will present my respects, before I sail for America.”

She looked up at me, startled.

“Before you sail for America!” she exclaimed, in a tone that made me thrill at once with joy and sadness.  “And are you not, then, to see London now you are here?”

“Are you never coming back, Dolly?” I whispered; for I feared Mr. Marmaduke might appear at any moment; “or do you wish to remain in England always?”

For an instant I felt her pressure on my hand, and then she had fled into the house, leaving me standing by the steps looking after her.  Comyn’s voice aroused me.

“To the Star and Garter!” I heard him command, and on the way to Pall Mall he ceased not to rate Mr. Manners with more vigour than propriety.  “I never liked the little cur, d—­n him!  No one likes him, Richard,” he declared.  “All the town knows how Chartersea threw a bottle at him, and were it not for his daughter he had long since been put out of White’s.  Were it not for Miss Dolly I would call him out for this cowardly trick, and then publish him.”

“Nay, my Lord, I had held that as my privilege,” interrupted the captain, “were it not, as you say, for Miss Manners.”

His Lordship shot a glance at John Paul somewhat divided between surprise, resentment, and amusement.

“Now you have seen the daughter, captain, you perceive it is impossible,” I hastened to interpose.

“How in the name of lineage did she come to have such a father?” Comyn went on.  “I thank Heaven he’s not mine.  He’s not fit to be her lackey.  I would sooner twenty times have a profligate like my Lord Sandwich for a parent than a milk and water sop like Manners, who will risk nothing over a crown piece at play or a guinea at Newmarket.  By G—­, Richard,” said his Lordship, bringing his fist against the glass with near force enough to break the pane, “I have a notion why he did not choose to see you that day.  Why, he has no more blood than a louse!”

I had come to the guess as soon as he, but I dared not give it voice, nor anything but ridicule.  And so we came to the hotel, the red of departing day fading in the sky above the ragged house-line in St. James’s Street.

It was a very different reception we got than when we had first come there.  You, my dears, who live in this Republic can have no notion of the stir and bustle caused by the arrival of Horace Walpole’s carriage at a fashionable hotel, at a time when every innkeeper was versed in the arms of every family of note in the three kingdoms.  Our friend the chamberlain was now humility itself, and fairly ran in his eagerness to anticipate Comyn’s demands.  It was “Yes, my Lord,” and “To be sure, your Lordship,”