The banker, who spoke in a very hurried and even impatient voice, waited for no reply, but took his way to Alice's house. Alice herself did not follow, but remained in the very place where she was left, till joined by her servant, who then conducted her to the rich man's residence. . . But Alice's mind had not recovered its shock, and her thoughts wandered alarmingly. CHAPTER VII. "/Miramont./--Do they chafe roundly? /Andrew./--As they were rubbed with soap, sir, And now they swear aloud, now calm again Like a ring of bells, whose sound the wind still utters, And then they sit in council what to do, And then they jar again what shall be done?" BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. OH! what a picture of human nature it was when the banker and the vagabond sat together in that little drawing-room, facing each other,--one in the armchair, one on the sofa! Darvil was still employed on some cold meat, and was making wry faces at the very indifferent brandy which he had frightened the formal old servant into buying at the nearest public-house; and opposite sat the respectable--highly respectable man of forms and ceremonies, of decencies and quackeries, gazing gravely upon this low, daredevil ruffian:--the well-to-do hypocrite--the penniless villain;--the man who had everything to lose--the man who had nothing in the wide world but his own mischievous, rascally life, a gold watch, chain and seals, which he had stolen the day before, and thirteen shillings and threepence halfpenny in his left breeches pocket! The man of wealth was by no means well acquainted with the nature of the beast before him. He had heard from Mrs. Leslie (as we remember) the outline of Alice's history, and ascertained that their joint /protegee's/ father was a great blackguard; but he expected to find Mr. Darvil a mere dull, brutish villain--a peasant-ruffian--a blunt serf, without brains, or their substitute, effrontery. But Luke Darvil was a clever, half-educated fellow: he did not sin from ignorance, but had wit enough to have bad principles, and he was as impudent as if he had lived all his life in the best society. He was not frightened at the banker's drab breeches and imposing air--not he! The Duke of Wellington would not have frightened Luke Darvil, unless his grace had had the constables for his /aides-de-camp/. The banker, to use a homely phrase, was "taken aback." "Look you here, Mr. What's-your-name!" said Darvil, swallowing a glass of the raw alcohol as if it had been water--"look you now--you can't humbug me. What the devil do you care about my daughter's respectability or comfort, or anything else, grave old dog as you are! It is my daughter herself you are licking your brown old chaps at!--and, 'faith, my Alley is a very pretty girl--very--but queer as moonshine. You'll drive a much better bargain with me than with her."