Mr Broune had of late been very serviceable to Mr Melmotte, and Melmotte was correspondingly gracious. On seeing the Editor he immediately began to make a speech of thanks in respect of the support given by the 'Breakfast Table' to his candidature. But Mr Broune cut him short. 'I never talk about the "Breakfast Table,"' said he. 'We endeavour to get along as right as we can, and the less said the soonest mended.' Melmotte bowed. 'I have come now about quite another matter, and perhaps, the less said the sooner mended about that also. Sir Felix Carbury on a late occasion received a sum of money in trust from your daughter. Circumstances have prevented its use in the intended manner, and, therefore, as Sir Felix's friend, I have called to return the money to you.' Mr Broune did not like calling himself the friend of Sir Felix, but he did even that for the lady who had been good enough to him not to marry him.

'Oh, indeed,' said Mr Melmotte, with a scowl on his face, which he would have repressed if he could.

'No doubt you understand all about it.'

'Yes;--I understand. D---- scoundrel!'

'We won't discuss that, Mr Melmotte. I've drawn a cheque myself payable to your order,--to make the matter all straight. The sum was £250, I think.' And Mr Broune put a cheque for that amount down upon the table.

'I dare say it's all right,' said Mr Melmotte. 'But, remember, I don't think that this absolves him. He has been a scoundrel.'

'At any rate he has paid back the money, which chance put into his hands, to the only person entitled to receive it on the young lady's behalf. Good morning.' Mr Melmotte did put out his hand in token of amity. Then Mr Broune departed and Melmotte tinkled his bell. As Nidderdale was shown in he crumpled up the cheque, and put it into his pocket. He was at once clever enough to perceive that any idea which he might have had of prosecuting Sir Felix must be abandoned. 'Well, my Lord, and how are you?' said he with his pleasantest smile. Nidderdale declared himself to be as fresh as paint. 'You don't look down in the mouth, my Lord.'

Then Lord Nidderdale,--who no doubt felt that it behoved him to show a good face before his late intended father-in-law,--sang the refrain of an old song, which it is trusted my readers may remember.

'Cheer up, Sam; Don't let your spirits go down. There's many a girl that I know well, Is waiting for you in the town.'




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