I began to think I must be a species of Jonah, got aboard by haphazard in this peaceful foreign ark, and that the sooner I was cast forth into the sea the better. Even Monsieur de Nesselrode appeared to have been frightened by my proposal to get him a wife, and to come less often to the house than before. My only resource was Charlie Sandilands, who had, of course, reappeared upon the scene of action, faithful as ever. Charlie was just that sort of man who might be counted upon to reappear, never mind how often he was snubbed, always amiable and forgiving, and for that very reason he was the sort of man that I never could have submitted my judgment to. But he was an immense comfort to me at that period, and having once thoroughly knocked the truth into his stupid old head that he could be nothing more, we got on capitally together, and scarcely passed a day without meeting, either in the house or out of it. I had received an answer to my letter from Mr. Warrington; one that made me feel both comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time. In it he had enclosed a draft for twenty pounds, with the intimation that for the next few weeks imperative business would keep him in London, but that as soon as it was concluded he should run over to St. Pucelle, and inquire into my money affairs himself. Meanwhile, he trusted that what he sent would free me from any further annoyance until his arrival. This was just what I had dreaded; and had it not been for Charlie Sandilands, I should foolishly have written back, and begged Mr. Warrington to try first what he could do by letter. But my friend dissuaded me from interfering in the matter. In the first place, he pointed out that the lawyer must know his own business best; in the second, that an epistolary war between him and Mr. Lovett would be none the pleasanter for me than a wordy one, and I should be compelled to bear the brunt of it without the weight of Mr. Warrington’s presence to back me. There was much good sense in this advice, which I resolved to take, and Charlie and I had many discussions as we trod the lonely environs of St. Pucelle together, as to what future course of life it would be advisable for me to adopt, for that I should be able to continue in any comfort with the Lovetts after the exposure that must follow the solicitor’s visit, I never for a moment anticipated. Somewhere near Tessie and Ange I resolved if possible to stay, but not under the same roof-tree. Charlie talked of Germany and Italy, and the delight the art treasures of these countries would afford to my æsthetic tastes, but somehow I could not make up my mind to leave St. Pucelle. It was a stupid, pottering little town, true enough, and I knew every inch of it by that time, and I had no ties to keep me there; still, whatever the reason, I always came back to the same decision, that, for the present at least, I did not fancy the idea of quitting it.