I know you'll excuse me.
I shall be back to-night somehow.

By the by, as you are going to the post-office here for the letter you expect from your mother, ask for my letters too.

You will take care of little Sophy, and [in a whisper] hurry her out of the garden, or that Grand Mogul feminine, Lady Selina, whose condescension would crush the Andes, will be stopping her as my _protege_, falling in raptures with that horrid coloured print, saying, 'Dear, what pretty sprigs! where can such things be got ?' and learning perhaps how Frank Vance saved the Bandit's Child from the Remorseless Baron.

'T is your turn now.

Save your friend.