I am told that even you, for instance, lost your temper upon a certain occasion down at Crompton--gave a 'piece of your mind' to my father, which, it seems, he took as a sample of the whole of it.

There, don't be angry: the provocation, it must be allowed, was in your case greater than mine; but then you pique yourself on your self-control! However, this Fane did hate me, and told the chaplain of his suspicions; the good parson was my friend, however, and all might have gone well, but for this oaf--this idiot Jack--coming down to Carew's in person.

He could never get any coin out of 'Fred,' it appears, by letter; or, perhaps, he couldn't 'write!' But there he was in the big drawing-room when I went in last night, and Carew saw his jaw drop at the sight of me.

He had not the sense to shut it even afterward, though I told him he had made a mistake, and gave him every chance.

I could have persuaded him, indeed, out of his own identity--and much more mine--only that he appealed to Fane; and then the game was up.