or Howard, or any body, in short."

"It is a man nearly six feet high," said I, "thin, and remarkably well
made, of a pale complexion, light eyes, and very black hair, mustachios
and whiskers. I saw him with you once in the Bois de Boulogne, and once
in a hell in the Palais Royal. Surely, now you will recollect who he is?"

Thornton was evidently disconcerted. "Oh!" said he, after a short pause,
and another of his peculiarly quick, sly glances--"Oh, that man; I have
known him a very short time. What is his name? let me see!" and Mr.
Thornton affected to look down in a complete reverie of dim remembrances.

I saw, however, that, from time to time, his eye glanced up to me, with a
restless, inquisitive expression, and as instantly retired.

"Ah," said I, carelessly, "I think I know who he is!"

"Who!" cried Thornton, eagerly, and utterly off his guard.

"And yet," I pursued, without noticing the interruption, "it scarcely can
be--the colour of the hair is so very different."

Thornton again appeared to relapse into his recollections. "War--Warbur--
ah, I have it now!" cried he, "Warburton--that's it--that's the name--is
it the one you supposed, Mr. Pelham?"

"No," said I, apparently perfectly satisfied. "I was quite mistaken. Good
morning, I did not think it was so late. On Sunday, then, Mr. Thornton--
au plaisir!"