I was much pleased with Mowbray at this instant, for the manner in which he joined in my praise of Jacob, and in congratulations to him. His lordship promised that he would recommend his house to all his family and friends. “What a contrast,” said Mowbray, as soon as Jacob had left the room, “there is between Jacob and his old rival, Dutton! That fellow has turned out very ill--drunken, idle dog--is reduced to an old-iron shop, I believe--always plaguing me with begging letters. Certainly, Harrington, you may triumph in your election of Jacob.” I never saw Berenice and her father look so much pleased with Mowbray as they did at this instant. Of the remainder of the evening I recollect nothing but Berenice, and of my staying later than I ought to have done. Even after the general and his wife had departed some time, I lingered. I was to go home in Mowbray’s carriage, and twice he had touched my shoulder, telling me that I was not aware how late it was. I could not conceive how he could think of going so early. “Early!” He directed my eye to the clock on the chimneypiece. I was ashamed to see the hour. I apologized to Mr. Montenero. He replied in a manner that was more than polite--that was quite affectionate; and his last words, repeated at the head of the stairs, expressed a desire to see me again _frequently_. I sprang into Mowbray’s carriage one of the happiest men on earth, full of love, hope, and joy. CHAPTER XII. “All gone to bed but you?” said I to the footman, who opened the door. “No, sir,” said the drowsy fellow, “my lady is sitting up for you, I believe.” “Then, Mowbray, come in--come up with me to my mother, pray do, for one instant.” Before she slept, I said, he must administer an antidote to Coates’s poison. While the impression was still fresh in his mind, I entreated he would say what a delightful party we had had. My mother, I knew, had such a high idea of his lordship’s judgment in all that concerned gentility and fashion, that a word from him would be decisive. “But let it be to-morrow morning,” said Mowbray; “‘tis shamefully late to-night.” “To-night--to-night--now, now,” persisted I. He complied: “Any thing to oblige you.” “Remember,” said I, as we ran up stairs, “Spanish ambassador, Russian envoy, Polish Count and Countess, and an English general and his lady--strong in rank we’ll burst upon the enemy.” I flung open the door, but my spirits were suddenly checked; I saw it was no time for jest and merriment.