would, Godolphin could not rid himself of the gaze; so at length he met it
with a look of equal scrutiny and courage. The old gentleman slowly
approached. "Percy Godolphin, I think?" said he.

"That is _my_ name, sir," replied Percy. "Yours----"

"No matter! Yet stay! you shall know it. I am Henry Johnstone--old Harry
Johnstone. You have heard of him?--your father's first cousin. Well, I
grieve, young sir, to find that you associate with that rascal
Saville--Nay, never interrupt me sir!--I grieve to find that you, thus
young, thus unguarded, are left to be ruined in heart and corrupted in
nature by any one who will take the trouble! Yet I like your
countenance!--I like your countenance!--it is open, yet thoughtful; frank,
and yet it has something of melancholy. You have not Charles's coloured
hair; but you are much younger--much. I am glad I have seen you; I came
here on purpose; good-night!"--and without waiting for an answer, the old
man disappeared.

Godolphin, recovering from his surprise, recollected that he had often
heard his father speak of a rich and eccentric relation named Johnstone.
This singular interview made a strong but momentary impression on him. He
intended to seek out the old man's residence; but one thing or another
drove away the fulfilment of the intention, and in this world the
relations never met again.

Percy, now musingly gliding through the crowd, sank into a seat beside a
lady of forty-five, who sometimes amused herself in making love to
him--because there could be no harm in such a mere boy!--and presently
afterwards, a Lord George Somebody, sauntering up, asked the lady if he
had not seen her at the play on the previous night.