remember
that you are heir only. I am advancing you money without advices from
his Worship, your grandfather. A most irregular proceeding, sir, and one
likely to lead me to trouble. I know not what your allowance may be."

"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