'Sir,' said Stuart, 'though we sometimes laugh at you, even in your grave characters, the part you have now chosen seems much too serious for drollery. Allow me to ask, Sir, by what right you feel entitled to call yourself the protector of this lady?' 'First inform me,' said Montmorenci, 'by what right you feel entitled to put that question?' 'By the right of friendship,' answered Stuart. 'No, but enmity,' cried I, 'unprovoked, unprincipled, inexorable enmity. This is the Stuart whom you have often heard me mention, as my persecutor; and I hope you will now make him repent of his temerity.' 'Sir,' said his lordship, 'I desire you to leave the house.' 'Not till you favour me with your company,' replied Stuart; 'for I find I must have some serious conversation with you.' 'Beshrew my heart!' cried Lord Altamont Mortimer Montmorenci, 'if you want satisfaction, follow me this moment. I am none of your slovenly, slobbering shots. Damme, I scorn to pistol a gentleman about the ankles. I can teach the young idea how to shoot, damme.' He spoke, and strode out of the room. Stuart smiled and followed him. You must know, I speculate upon a duel. In short, my plot is entangling itself admirably; and such characters as Betterton and Stuart will not fail to keep the wheels of it going. Betterton is probably planning to carry me off by force; Stuart and our hero are coming to a misunderstanding about me; the latter will, perhaps, return with his arm in an interesting sling, and another parting-forever interview cannot be far distant. Such is the promising aspect of affairs. Adieu. LETTER XV While I was sitting in the most painful suspense, a knock came to the door, and Stuart entered. 'You terrify, shock, amaze me!' cried I. 'What dreadful blow awaits me? Speak!' 'Pray,' said he, laughing, 'what was your fancy for telling me that you were ruined?' 'And so I am,' answered I. 'At least, not in the way you wished me to suppose,' said he. 'I repeat, Sir,' cried I, 'that I am ruined: no matter in what manner; but ruined I am.' 'Your friend, the player, tells me that you are not,' said he. 'My friend, the player, is very meddling,' answered I. 'This is the way that whatever plot I lay down for my memoirs is always frustrated. Sir, I say I am ruined.' 'Well,' cried he, 'I will not dispute the point. I wish only to guard you against being ruined again. I mistrust this Grundy much. From his conversation, after we left you, I can perceive that he has a matrimonial design upon you. Pray beware of the fellow.' 'The fellow!' cried I. 'Alas! you know him not. His large and piercing eye is but the index of a soul fraught with every human virtue.' 'Ah! my friend,' said he, 'you stand on the very verge of a precipice, and I must endeavour, even at the risk of your displeasure, to snatch you from it.'