. I suppose we shall not
see each other again, so good-bye, Dick! I fancy I hear you cursing me.
Why can't you feel like other men on the subject? But if you were like
the rest of them I should not have cared for you a farthing. I have not
worn lilac since I saw you last. I'll be buried in your colour, Dick.
That will not offend you--will it?

"You are not going to believe I took the money? If I thought you thought
that--it makes me feel like a devil only to fancy you think it.

"The first time you meet Brayder, cane him publicly.

"Adieu! Say it's because you don't like his face. I suppose devils must
not say Adieu. Here's plain old good-bye, then, between you and me.
Good-bye, dear Dick! You won't think that of me?

"May I eat dry bread to the day of my death if I took or ever will touch
a scrap of their money. BELLA."

Richard folded up the letter silently.

"Jump into the cab," he said to Ripton.

"Anything the matter, Richard?"

"No."

The driver received directions. Richard sat without speaking. His friend
knew that face. He asked whether there was bad news in the letter. For
answer, he had the lie circumstancial. He ventured to remark that they
were going the wrong way.

"It'd the right way," cried Richard, and his jaws were hard and square,
and his eyes looked heavy and full.

Ripton said no more, but thought.

The cabman pulled up at a Club. A gentleman, in whom Ripton recognized
the Hon. Peter Brayder, was just then swinging a leg over his horse, with
one foot in the stirrup. Hearing his name called, the Hon. Peter turned
about, and stretched an affable hand.

"Is Mountfalcon in town?" said Richard taking the horse's reins instead
of the gentlemanly hand. His voice and aspect were quite friendly.

"Mount?" Brayder replied, curiously watching the action; "yes. He's off
this evening."

"He is in town?" Richard released his horse. "I want to see him. Where is
he?"

The young man looked pleasant: that which might have aroused Brayder's
suspicions was an old affair in parasitical register by this time. "Want
to see him? What about?" he said carelessly, and gave the address.

"By the way," he sang out, "we thought of putting your name down,
Feverel." He indicated the lofty structure. "What do you say?"

Richard nodded back at him, crying, "Hurry." Brayder returned the nod,
and those who promenaded the district soon beheld his body in elegant
motion to the stepping of his well-earned horse.