The next day Sir Charles Mitford, who had been compelled to devote the morning to dry details of business connected with his estate--details to which he listened conscientiously, over which he shook his head visibly, and which he did not in the least understand--had got rid of the man of business from the library about noon, and was just thinking he would go and see what Mrs. Hammond was doing, when Banks entered, and closing the door after him in a secret and mysterious manner, announced "That party, sir." "What 'party,' Banks?" "The party that called in Heaton Place, Sir Charles, and ast to see you, and you wouldn't see at first, but did afterwards, Sir Charles." "I don't know yet whom you mean, Banks." "The naval party, Sir Charles; though lookin' more like after the coats and humbrellas in the 'all. The naval party as served with you on board some ship, Sir Charles." "Oh," said Mitford hurriedly, "I recollect now; one of--one of my sailors from my old yacht--yes, yes, of course. You can show him into my own room, Banks. I'll go up there at once." "'Sailor,'" said Mr. Banks to himself as he walked down the passage, "'from my hold yacht,' did he say? Why, if what they say at the Club is right, the honly naval concern which he knew of before comin' in for the title was the Fleet Pris'n! This is a queer start about this feller, this is. I wonder why he wants to see Mitford, and why Mitford can't refuse hisself to him?--This way, young man." And he beckoned haughtily to Mr. Effingham, and preceded him to his master's room. Sir Charles had already arrived there, and was seated in his large armchair when the visitor was shown in. Ah, what a different visitor from the Mr. Effingham who called in Eaton Place! Then full of vulgar confidence and brazen audacity; now, flinching, slouching, cowardly. His dress bedraggled from the previous day's wretched journey, his manner downcast from the preconceived notion of failure in his mission, and the impossibility of enforcing his previous demands. A very wretched specimen of humanity was Mr. Effingham as he stood before Sir Charles Mitford, shifting his limp hat from hand to hand, and waiting to be asked to sit down. When Banks had retired and closed the door, Sir Charles looked up quietly and steadily at his visitor, and said, "Well, Mr.--I forget your name--you've broken your promise, as I expected, and come to try and extort money from me again!" "Extort, Sir Charles! that's not the word, sir; I--" "That _is_ the word, sir! Sheer barefaced robbery and extortion--that's what has brought you down here; deny it if you can! Have you come to ask me for money, or have you not?" "Well, Sir Charles, I--that is--" "No shuffling, sir! no prevarication! Have you or not?" "Well, suppose I have?"