the necessity of public duty—a theme which brought virtuous tears into the eyes of those respectable functionaries,—he re-entered his carriage, returned to town, and after a lively dinner, tête-à-tête with an old chère amie, who, of all her charms, had preserved only the attraction of conversation and the capacity of relishing a salmi, Mauleverer, the very evening of his return, betook himself to the house of Sir William Brandon.
When he entered the hall, Barlow, the judge's favourite servant, met him, with rather a confused and mysterious air, and arresting him as he was sauntering into Brandon's library, informed him that Sir William was particularly engaged, but would join his Lordship in the drawing-room. While Barlow was yet speaking, and Mauleverer was bending his right ear (with which he heard the best) towards him, the library-door opened, and a man in a very coarse and ruffianly garb awkwardly bowed himself out. "So, this is the particular engagement," thought Mauleverer; "a strange Sir Pandarus; but those old fellows have droll tastes."
"I may go in now, my good fellow, I suppose," said his Lordship to Barlow; and without waiting an answer, he entered the library. He found
