"Tush!" answered his Lordship; "I am as well as you." And he took snuff to prove the assertion. "Why the devil was you not in Brook Street yesterday to tell me that your uncle had swindled you? I thought I was your friend," says he, "and I learn of your misfortune through others." "It is because you are my friend, and my best friend, that I would not worry you when you lay next door to death on my account," I said, with emotion. And just then Banks announced Mr. Dix. "Let him wait," said I, greatly disturbed. "Show him up!" said my Lord, peremptorily. "No, no!" I protested; "he can wait. We shall have no business now." But Banks was gone. And I found out, long afterward, that it was put up between them. The agent swaggered in with that easy assurance he assumed whenever he got the upper hand. He was the would-be squire once again, in top-boots and a frock. I have rarely seen a man put out of countenance so easily as was Mr. Dix that morning when he met his Lordship's fixed gaze from the arm-chair. "And so you are turned Jew?" says he, tapping his snuffbox. "Before you go ahead so fast again, you will please to remember, d--n you, that Mr. Carvel is the kind that does not lose his friends with his fortune." Mr. Dix made a salaam, which was so ludicrous in a squire that my Lord roared with laughter, and I feared for his wound. "A man must live, my Lord," sputtered the agent. His discomfiture was painful. "At the expense of another," says Comyn, dryly. "That is your motto in Change Alley." "If you will permit, Jack, I must have a few words in private with Mr. Dix," I cut in uneasily. His Lordship would be damned first. "I am not accustomed to be thwarted, Richard, I tell you. Ask the dowager if I have not always had my way. I am not going to stand by and see a man who saved my life fall into the clutches of an usurer. Yes, I said usurer, Mr. Dix. My attorney, Mr. Kennett, of Lincoln's Inn, has instructions to settle with you." And, despite all I could say, he would not budge an inch. At last I submitted under the threat that he would never after have a word to say to me. By good luck, when I had paid into Mr. Dix's hand the thousand pounds I had received from Charles Fox, and cleared my outstanding bills, the sum I remained in Comyn's debt was not greatly above seven hundred pounds. And that was the end of Mr. Dix for me; when he had backed himself out in chagrin at having lost his ten per centum, my feelings got the better of me. The water rushed to my eyes, and I turned my back upon his Lordship. To conceal his own emotions he fell to swearing like mad. "Fox will get you something," he said at length, when he was a little calmed. I told him, sadly, that my duty took me to America. "And Dorothy?" he said; "you will leave her?"