‘For him, a humiliating confession indeed. He tells me in his letter how you—a man whom he had never seen before—saved him from the consequences of his folly—from disgrace—nay, from suicide itself! He had lost at the gaming-table money which was not his to lose. He fled the place—despair, madness, I know not what, in his heart and brain. You followed him, and were just in time to take out of his hand the weapon that a minute later would have ended his wretched life. But you not only did that; you took the miserable boy to your hotel, and there provided him with the means to save his honour. It was a noble action, Mr Boyd, and I thank you from my heart.’ ‘It was the action of a man who remembered that he had been young and foolish himself in years gone by.’ ‘I repeat, sir, that it was a noble action. And you would have gone away without telling me how greatly I am your debtor!’ ‘It was a secret that concerned no one but the young man and myself.’ ‘It is a debt that must be and shall be paid. I am glad indeed to find that there is sufficient sense of honour left in my nephew to cause him to beg that you may not be allowed to remain a loser by your generosity. He has ascertained that you have returned to England; he has even found out the name of your hotel in Covent Garden, where he asks me to wait upon you. Hum, hum. My cheque-book is at home, Mr Boyd; but if you will oblige me with your address in town, I’—— ‘One moment, Sir Frederick. Am I right in assuming that a certain anonymous letter which I received yesterday was written by you?’ ‘Since you put the question so categorically—frankly, it was.’ ‘You have done me a service greater than I know how to thank you for. You have dragged me from the verge of an abyss. At present, I will not ask you how you came by the information which enabled you to do this—it is enough to know that you did it.’ He held out his hand frankly. ‘Suppose we cry quits, Sir Frederick?’ he said. The Baronet protruded a limp and flaccid paw, which Oscar’s long lean fingers gripped heartily. ‘But—but, my dear sir, the five hundred pounds is a debt which must and shall be paid,’ urged Sir Frederick, who felt as if he had lost the use of his hand for a few moments. There was no opportunity for further private talk. Round a corner of the terrace came Captain and Mrs Bowood, Miss Brandon and her lover in a high state of contentment, and Brooker the benignant, nose in air, and with one hand hidden in the breast of his frock-coat. A servant brought out some of Lady Dimsdale’s boxes in readiness for the carriage, which would be there in the course of a few minutes. Mr Boyd went forward, leaving Sir Frederick a little way in the rear. ‘Quits—“let us cry quits,” he said,’ muttered the Baronet. ‘Yes, yes; let it be so as regards all but the money. That must be repaid. The service I did him was no common one—he admits that. Why, then, should I not hold Lady Dimsdale to her promise?’