precation. I went on: "But I am going to
stay here and find out the truth, though it may be a foolish undertaking.
And if he is intimidating Mr. Manners--"

"You may count on me, and on Charles," said my Lord, generously; "and
there are some others I know of. Gad! You made a dozen of friends and
admirers by what you said last night, Richard. And his Grace has a few
enemies. You will not lack support."

We dined very comfortably at the Cocoa Tree, where Comyn had made an
appointment for me with two as diverting gentlemen as had ever been my
lot to meet. My Lord Carlisle was the poet and scholar of the little
clique which had been to Eton with Charles Fox, any member of which (so
'twas said) would have died for him. His Lordship, be it remarked in
passing, was as lively a poet and scholar as can well be imagined. He
had been recently sobered, so Comyn confided; which I afterwards
discovered meant married. Charles Fox's word for the same was fallen.
And I remembered that Jack had told me it was to visit Lady Carlisle at
Castle Howard that Dorothy was going when she heard of my disappearance.
Comyn's other guest was Mr. Topham Beauclerk, the macaroni friend of
Dr. Johnson. He, too, had been recently married, but appeared no more
sobered than his Lordship. Mr. Beauclerk's wife, by the way, was the
beautiful Lady Diana Spencer, who had been divorced from Lord
Bolingbroke, the Bully I had met the night before. These gentlemen
seemed both well acquainted with Miss Manners, and vowed that none but
American beauties would ever be the fashion in London more. Then we all
drove to Lady Tankerville's drum-major near Chesterfield House.

"You will be wanting a word with her when she comes in," said Comyn,
slyly divining. Poor fellow! I fear that I scarcely appreciated his
feelings as to Dorothy, or the noble unselfishness of his friendship for
me.

We sat aside in a recess of the lower hall, watching the throng as they
passed: haughty dowagers, distorted in lead and disfigured in silk and
feathers nodding at the ceiling; accomplished beaus of threescore or
more, carefully mended for the night by their Frenchmen at home; young
ladies in gay brocades with round skirts and stiff, pear-shaped bodices;
and youngsters just learning to ogle and to handle their snuff-boxes.
One by one their names were sent up and solemnly mouthed by the footman
on the landing. At length, when we had all but given her up, Dorothy
arrived. A hood of lavende