“Ring for the brougham, D’Almayne,” he continued; “Monsieur Guillemard, you must give me my revenge at an early opportunity; good night, Jack;” then turning away with a laugh, as he perceived that youthful legislator, who had “gone in” for Sherry-cobbler rather too zealously, fast asleep on the sofa, he retired to his dressing-room to remove, as far as he was able, the outward effects of wine and excitement. As he quitted the apartment, D’Almayne, after a hasty glance at the “used up” Jack, drew Guillemard aside, and speaking French, said in an eager whisper, “You are much too precipitate, and will ruin everything; what could persuade you to win so large a sum from him at one sitting?” “You conceive it that I am too impressed! _Regarde!_ One gave to me this _billet_ at the dinner-table,” was the reply. Hastily snatching it, D’Almayne read as follows:-- “---- Street, Eleven, p.m. “Prince Ratrapski, the Russian nobleman, has been playing deeply; has had a run of unparalleled luck, and _broken the bank_; unless you can come by £500 immediately, there will be an unpleasant exposure, and D’Almayne and yourself will be, before morning, the tenants of a debtor’s prison, with “Your devoted, “Le Roux.” CHAPTER XXXVIII.--SOME OF THE JOYS OF OUR DANCING DAYS. Lady Tattersall Trottemout lived in the Brompton and Kensington region, and knew everybody. Her deceased papa had walked into Manchester some fifty years since, with a good head on his shoulders, and fourpence-halfpenny in his breeches-pocket. Being tired with his walk, he sat down in Manchester, and rested there for the space of forty years, during which time, by a process peculiar to that city, his fourpence-halfpenny grew into an hundred and forty thousand pounds. Unto him was born, in lawful wedlock, one only daughter, the subject of the present brief memoir, who, on his retirement to “t’ Oud Churchyard” (as, in his Lancashire dialect, he was accustomed to denominate his final resting-place in the burial-ground of the Collegiate Church), inherited the fourpence-halfpenny and its compound interest; with which, when her mourning for her father was ended, she purchased Sir Tattersall Trottemout. This noble baronet, who was by no means worth the price she gave for him, had been essentially a fast man, and had run through everything he could lay his “blood-red hand” upon--his own fortune and the fortunes of several of his relations included--and when they were all gone and spent, he ran through his reputation; which last “rapid act” did not take him long, as that “bubble” was not as “wide as a church-door, nor deep as a draw-well,” when he began upon it. Thus, finding himself under a cloud and in difficulties--the only things he had yet encountered which he could not run through (the good old days of “pinking” one’s tailor instead of paying him being unfortunately past)--Sir T. T. felt that his time was come, and that he must prepare his mind for another--that is, a married--life.