Was this Mr.
Moncton's pretended friendship?
I tried in vain to write.

"It is useless," I said mentally.

"The deed may go to the devil, and Robert Moncton along with it, for what I care," and I flung the parchment from me.

"That man is an infamous liar! I will tell him so to his face." I was just about to burst into the room, when Sir Alexander resumed the conversation.
"Who was this lad's mother ?" "A young person of the name of Rivers; the only daughter of a poor curate, in Derbyshire.

You know my brother's dissipated habits.