might talk her deaf before she would understand or listen to any thing
else; but, for my own share, I don't care a rush if London was sunk in
the salt sea. Little Dublin for my money, as Sir Terence O'Fay says."

"Who is Sir Terence O'Fay, may I ask, sir?"

"Why, don't you know Terry?--Ay, you've been so long at Cambridge--I
forgot. And did you never see Terry?"

"I have seen him, sir.--I met him yesterday at Mr. Mordicai's, the
coachmaker's."

"Mordicai's!" exclaimed Lord Clonbrony, with a sudden blush, which he
endeavoured to hide, by taking snuff. "He is a damned rascal, that
Mordicai! I hope you didn't believe a word he said--nobody does that
knows him."

"I am glad, sir, that you seem to know him so well, and to be upon
your guard against him," replied Lord Colambre; "for, from what I
heard of his conversation, when he was not aware who I was, I am
convinced he would do you any injury in his power."

"He shall never have me in his power, I promise him. We shall take
care of that--But what did he say?"

Lord Colambre repeated the substance of what Mordicai had said, and
Lord Clonbrony reiterated, "Damned rascal!--damned rascal!--I'll get
out of his hands--I'll have no more to do with him." But, as he spoke,
he exhibited evident symptoms of uneasiness, moving continually, and
shifting from leg to leg, like a foundered horse.