"It is a sight I shall always remember with admiration," said Aarons, recovering his self-command with the ease of long practice, "and I will leave it to your mirror’s reflection to remind you that I only await a word from you to place my fortune at your feet." "Ah!" sighed Prue, "if it were only a question of your fortune! Must you go, Mr. Aarons?" for he had risen, and hat in hand, was already bowing himself out. "Unfortunately, I am much pressed for time, Viscountess, so I am reluctantly compelled to take my leave; but I trust not for long. Fare you well." And he was gone, leaving the bank-notes where she had placed them on the table. In the hall he found James engaged in an altercation with a red-faced person in shabby black of a quasi-clerical cut. This individual was not precisely drunk, but most evidently not very sober, and the voice in which he expressed his intention of seeing and speaking with the Viscountess Brooke—if he had to wait until midnight—was very husky and rather bellicose. "If I can not see the Lady Brooke, I’ll wait and see Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert," he insisted, as James reiterated the utter impossibility of such a visitor to any member of the family. "Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert does not live here," replied James loftily. "You had better call at his house." The tipsy gentleman leered in a most impertinent fashion. "I’m a good deal more likely to find him at Lady Brooke’s house than his own," he observed confidentially. A hand was placed on his arm, and turning with a nervous start, he found the harsh gaze of Mr. Aarons bent sternly upon him. "Parson Goodridge! you here and in this condition?" exclaimed the money-lender. "Me here? Well, so are you!" hiccoughed the reverend gentleman. "Who the devil would expect to find old ’shent-per-shent’ in a lady’s boudoir?" "I am frequently in places where you would least expect to meet me," said Aarons, with a scowl at the other’s tipsy familiarity. "But this meeting is opportune; I want a few words with you, and as you will gain nothing by waiting here, you may as well come with me." Goodridge hesitated and made an abortive attempt to wriggle out of the usurer’s firm grasp. "You can’t do anything to me," he said at last, in a resigned tone. "I’m safe in the ’Rules,’ and all the creditors in London Town can not touch me." However, he made no further resistance, and when they reached the street, Aarons’ manner changed completely. His hand slipped through the parson’s arm with a friendly pressure and his voice lost its grinding harshness. "Is there no quiet place of entertainment near by, where we can have a little talk—on business?" he inquired. "Pleasant business, Parson; business that may fill your pockets with gold, mayhap; or, if not that, at least will give us a chance to crack a bottle of good wine together."