“Now, to sum up. Let me hear from you about all I have been asking; and, though I don’t opine it lies very much in your way, send me any tidings you can pick up--to his disadvantage, of course--of Joseph Loyd, Middle Temple. You know scores of attorneys who could trace him. Your hint about letter writing for the papers is not a bad one. I suppose I could learn the trick, and do it at least as well as some of the fellows whose lucubrations I read. A political surmise, a spicy bit of scandal, a sensation trial wound up with a few moral reflections upon how much better we do the same sort of things at home. Isn’t that the bone of it? Send me--don’t forget it--send me some news of Rocksley. I want to hear how they take all that I have been doing of late for their happiness. I have half of a letter written to Soph--a sort of mild condolence, blended with what the serious people call profitable reflections and suggestive hints that her old affection will find its way back to me one of these days, and that when the event occurs, her best course will be to declare it. I have reminded her, too, that I laid up a little love in her heart when we parted, just as shrewd people leave a small balance at their bankers’ as a title to reopen their account at a future day. “Give Guy’s people a hint that it’s only wasting postage- stamps to torment me with bills. I never break the envelope of a dun’s letter, and I know them as instinctively as a detective does a swell-mobsman. What an imaginative race these duns must be. I know of no fellow, for the high flights of fancy, to equal one’s tailor or bootmaker. As to the search for the elixir vitae, it’s a dull realism after the attempts I have witnessed for years to get money out of myself. “But I must close this; here is Milly, whose taper fingers have been making cigarettes for me all the morning, come to propose a sail on the lake!--fact Algy!--and the wolf is going out with the lambs, just as prettily and as decorously as though his mother had been a ewe and cast ‘sheep’s eyes’ at his father. Address me, Orta, simply, for I don’t wish it to be thought here that my stay is more than a day by day matter. I have all my letters directed to the post-office. “Yours, very cordially, “Harry Calvert.”