“He is my most particular friend, my lord--my companion--and traveled with me over the Continent. He is kind enough to take charge of my affairs: he pays my servants, manages my tradesmen--and, in short, is a man whom I could not do without. He's up to everything; and is altogether indispensable to me.” Lord Cullamore paused for some time, and seemed for a moment absorbed in some painful reflection or reminiscence. At length he said, “This man, Dunroe, must be very useful to you, if he be what you have just described him. Does he also manage your correspondence?” “He does, my lord; and is possessed of my most unlimited confidence. In fact, I could never get on without him. My affairs are in a state of the most inextricable confusion, and were it not for his sagacity and prudence, I could scarcely contrive to live at all. Poor Tom; he abandoned fine prospects in order to devote himself to my service.” “Such a friend must be invaluable, John,” observed his sister. “They say a friend, a true friend, is the rarest thing in the world; and when one meets such a friend, they ought to appreciate him.” “Very true, Emily,” said the Earl; “very true, indeed.” He spoke, however, as if in a state of abstraction. “Norton!--Norton. Do you know, John, who he is? Anything of his origin or connections?” “Nothing whatever,” replied Dunroe; “unless that he is well connected--he told me so himself--too well, indeed, he hinted, to render the situation of a dependent one which he should wish his relatives to become acquainted with--Of course, I respected his delicacy, and did not, consequently, press him further upon the point.” “That was considerate on your part,” replied the Earl, somewhat dryly; “but if he be such as you have described him, I agree with Emily in thinking he must be invaluable. And now, John, with respect to another affair--but perhaps this interview may be injurious to your health. Talking much, and the excitement attending it, may be bad, you know.” “I am not easily excited, my lord,” replied Dunroe; “rather a cool fellow; unless, indeed, when I used to have duns to meet. But now Norton manages all that for me. Proceed, my lord.” “Yes, but, John,” observed Lady Emily, “don't let affection for papa and me allow you to go beyond your strength.” “Never mind, Emily; I am all right, if this wound were healed, as it will soon be. Proceed, my lord.” “Well, then, my dear Dunroe, I am anxious you should know that I have had a long conversation with Sir Thomas Gourlay, upon the subject of your marriage with his beautiful and accomplished daughter.” “Yes, the Black Baronet; a confounded old scoundrel by all accounts.” “You forget, sir,” said the Earl, sternly, “that he is father to your future wife.” “Devilish sorry for it, my lord. I wish Lucy was daughter to any one else--but it matters not; I am not going to marry the black fellow, but twelve thousand a year and a pretty girl. I know a prettier, though.”