The remembrance of that fortnight has ever been an appalling one. Mr. Carvel had never attempted to teach me the value of money. My grandfather, indeed, held but four things essential to the conduct of life; namely, to fear God, love the King, pay your debts, and pursue your enemies. There was no one in London to advise me, Comyn being but a wild lad like myself. But my Lord Carlisle gave me a friendly warning: “Have a care, Carvel,” said he, kindly, “or you will run your grandfather through, and all your relations beside. I little realized the danger of it when I first came up.” (He was not above two and twenty then.) “And now I have a wife, am more crippled than I care to be, thanks to this devilish high play. Will you dine with Lady Carlisle in St. James's Place next Friday?” My heart went out to this young nobleman. Handsome he was, as a picture. And he knew better than most of your fine gentlemen how to put a check on his inclinations. As a friend he had few equals, his purse being ever at the command of those he loved. And his privations on Fox's account were already greater than many knew. I had a call, too, from Mr. Dix. I found him in my parlour one morning, cringing and smiling, and, as usual, half an hour away from his point. “I warrant you, Mr. Carvel,” says he, “there are few young gentlemen not born among the elect that make the great friends you are blessed with.” “I have been fortunate, Mr. Dix,” I replied dryly. “Fortunate!” he cried; “good Lord, sir! I hear of you everywhere with Mr. Fox, and you have been to Astley's with my Lord March. And I have a draft from you at Ampthill.” “Vastly well manoeuvred, Mr. Dix,” I said, laughing at the guilty change in his pink complexion. “And hence you are here.” He fidgeted, and seeing that I paid him no attention, but went on with my chocolate, he drew a paper from his pocket and opened it. “You have spent a prodigious sum, sir, for so short a time,” said he, unsteadily. “'Tis very well for you, Mr. Carvel, but I have to remember that you are heir only. I am advancing you money without advices from his Worship, your grandfather. A most irregular proceeding, sir, and one likely to lead me to trouble. I know not what your allowance may be.” “Nor I, Mr. Dix,” I replied, unreasonably enough. “To speak truth, I have never had one. You have my Lord Comyn's signature to protect you,” I went on ill-naturedly, for I had not had enough sleep. “And in case Mr. Carvel protests, which is unlikely and preposterous, you shall have ten percentum on your money until I can pay you. That should be no poor investment.” He apologized. But he smoothed out the paper on his knee.