I soon arrived at Mr. Thornton's abode. The same old woman, poring over the same novel of Crebillon, made me the same reply as before; and accordingly again I ascended the obscure and rugged stairs, which seemed to indicate, that the road to vice is not so easy as one generally supposes. I knocked at the door, and receiving no answering acknowledgment, opened it at once. The first thing I saw was the dark, rough coat of Warburton--that person's back was turned to me, and he was talking with some energy to Thornton (who lounged idly in his chair, with one ungartered leg thrown over the elbow.) "Ah, Mr. Pelham," exclaimed the latter, starting from his not very graceful position, "it gives me great pleasure to see you--Mr. Warburton, Mr. Pelham--Mr. Pelham, Mr. Warburton." My new-made and mysterious acquaintance drew himself up to his full height, and bowed very slightly to my own acknowledgment of the introduction. A low person would have thought him rude. I only supposed him ignorant of the world. No real gentleman is uncivil. He turned round after this stiff condescension de sa part, and sunk down on the sofa, with his back towards me. "I was mistaken," thought I, "when I believed him to be above such associates as Thornton--they are well matched." "My dear Sir," said Thornton, "I am very sorry I could not see you to breakfast--a particular engagement prevented me--verbum sap. Mr. Pelham, you take me, I suppose--black eyes white skin, and such an ancle;" and the fellow rubbed his great hands and chuckled. "Well," said I, "I cannot blame you, whatever may be my loss--a dark eye and a straight ancle are powerful excuses. What says Mr. Warburton to them?" and I turned to the object of my interrogatory. "Really," he answered drily, and without moving from his uncourteous position, "Mr. Thornton only can judge of the niceties of his peculiar tastes, or the justice of his general excuses." Mr. Warburton said this in a sarcastic, bitter tone. Thornton bit his lip, more, I should think, at the manner than the words, and his small grey eyes sparkled with a malignant and stern expression, which suited the character of his face far better than the careless levity and enjouement which his glances usually denoted. "They are no such great friends after all," thought I; "and now let me change my attack. Pray," I asked, "among all your numerous acquaintances at Paris, did you ever meet with a Mr. Tyrrell?" Warburton started from his chair, and as instantly re-seated himself. Thornton eyed me with one of those peculiar looks which so strongly reminded me of a dog, in deliberation whether to bite or run away. "I do know a Mr. Tyrrell!" he said, after a short pause. "What sort of a person is he?" I asked with an indifferent air--"a great gamester, is he not?" "He does slap it down on the colours now and then," replied Thornton. "I hope you don't know him, Mr. Pelham!"