ship declared war?' Sir Weeton Slater inquired.

'No, that's not her preliminary to wageing it,' Wedderburn replied.
These high-pressure smart talkers had a moment of dulness, and he
bethought him that he must run into the Club for letters, and was busy
at Westminster, where, if anything fresh occurred between meridian
and six o'clock, he should be glad, he said, to have word of it by
messenger, that he might not be behind his Age.

The form of humour to express the speed of the world was common, but it
struck me as a terrible illustration of my father's. I had still a sense
of pleasure in the thought that these intimates of his were gentlemen
who relished and, perhaps, really liked him. They were not parasites;
not the kind of men found hanging about vulgar profligates.

I quitted them. Sir Weeton Slater walked half-a-dozen steps beside
me. 'May I presume on a friendly acquaintance with your father, Mr.
Richmond?' he said. 'The fact is--you will not be offended?--he is
apt to lose his head, unless the Committee of Supply limits him very
precisely. I am aware that there is no material necessity for any
restriction.' He nodded to me as to one of the marvellously endowed,
as who should say, the Gods presided at your birth. The worthy baronet
struggled to impart his meaning, which was, that he would have me define
something like an allowance to my father, not so much for the purpose of
curtailing his expenditure--he did not venture upon private ground--as
to bridle my father's ideas of things possible for a private gentleman
in this country. In that character none were like him. As to his suit,
or appeal, he could assure me that Serjeant Wedderburn, and all who
would or could speak on the subject, saw no prospect of success; not
any. The worst of it was, that it caused my father to commit himself
in sundry ways. It gave a handle to his enemies. It--he glanced at me
indicatively.

I thanked the well-meaning gentleman without encouraging him to
continue.

'It led him to perform once more as a Statue of Bronze before the whole
of gaping London!' I could have added. That scene on the pine-promontory
arose in my vision, followed by other scenes of the happy German days. I
had no power to conjure up the princess.

Jorian DeWitt was the man I wanted to see. After applications at his
Club and lodgings I found him dragging his Burgundy leg in the Park,
on his road to pay a morning visit to his fair French enchantress. I
impe