hort to pay for such a favour."

I had almost forgotten Miss Dolly the wayward, the mischievous. But she
was before me now, her eyes sparkling, and biting her lips to keep down
her laughter. Comyn turned to fleck the window with his handkerchief,
while I was not a little put out at their mirth. But if John Paul
observed it, he gave no sign.

"Captain, I vow your manners are worthy of a Frenchman," said my Lord;
"and yet I am given to understand you are a Scotchman."

A shadow crossed the captain's face.

"I was, sir," he said.

"You were!" exclaimed Comyn, astonished; "and pray, what are you now,
sir?"

"Henceforth, my Lord," John Paul replied with vast ceremony: "I am an
American, the compatriot of the beautiful Miss Manners!"

"One thing I'll warrant, captain," said his Lordship, "that you are a
wit."

RICHARD CARVEL

By Winston Churchill

Volume 5.

XXVI. The Part Horatio played
XXVII. In which I am sore tempted
XXVIII. Arlington Street
XXIX. I meet a very Great Young Man
XXX. A Conspiracy
XXXI. "Upstairs into the World"
XXXII. Lady Tankerville's Drum-major
XXXIII. Drury Lane

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PART HORATIO PLAYED

The bailiff's business was quickly settled. I heard the heavy doors
close at our backs, and drew a deep draught of the air God has made for
all His creatures alike. Both the captain and I turned to the windows to
wave a farewell to the sad ones we were leaving behind, who gathered
about the bars for a last view of us, for strange as it may seem, the
mere sight of happiness is often a pleasure for those who are sad. A
coach in private arms and livery was in waiting, surrounded by a crowd.
They made a lane for us to pass, and stared at the young lady of queenly
beauty coming out of the sponging-house until the coachman snapped his
whip in their faces and the footman jostled them back. When we were got
in, Dolly and I on the back seat, Comyn told the man to go to Mr.
Manners's.

"Oh, no!" I cried, scarce knowing what I said; "no, not there!" For the
thought of entering the house in Arlington Street was unbearable.

Both Comyn and Dorothy gazed at me in astonishment.

"And pray, Richard, why not'?" she asked. "Have not your old friends
the right to receive you."

It was my Lord who saved me, for I was in agony what to say.

"He is still proud, and won't go to Arlington Street dressed like a
bargeman. He must needs plume, Miss Manners."

I glanced anxi