I did not wait for his reply. I sprung from him, turned down the passage
which leads to Pall Mall, and hastened home once more to commune with my
own heart, and--not to be still.

In these confessions I have made no scruple of owning my errors and my
foibles; all that could occasion mirth, or benefit to the reader were his
own. I have kept a veil over the darker and stormier emotions of my soul;
all that could neither amuse nor instruct him, are mine!

Hours passed on--it became time to dress--I rung for Bedos--dressed with
my usual elaborateness of pains--great emotions interfere little with the
mechanical operations of life--and drove to Guloseton's.

He was unusually entertaining; the dinner too was unusually good; but,
thinking that I was sufficiently intimate with my host not to be obliged
to belie my feelings, I remained distrait, absent, and dull.

"What is the matter with you, my friend?" said the good natured epicure;
"you have neither applauded my jokes, nor tasted my escallopes; and your
behaviour has trifled alike with my chevreuil, and my feelings." The
proverb is right, in saying "Grief is communicative." I confess that I
was eager to unbosom myself to one upon whose confidence I could depend.
Guloseton heard me with great attention and interest--"Little," said he,
kindly, "little as I care for these matters myself, I can feel for those
who do: I wish I could serve you better than by advice. However, you
cannot, I imagine, hesitate to accept Vincent's offer. What matters it
whether you sit on one bench or on another, so that you do not sit in a
thorough draught--or dine at Lord Lincoln's, or Lord Dawton's, so long as
the cooks are equally good? As for Dawton, I always thought him a