Sir Andrew’s visits to the City were few and far between.
Whenever he “ran up” by coach, he passed through the streets in a shadowy manner, without the slightest ambition, apparently, to be recognized by any of his former friends.
He was an “unsuccessful man,” and had involved many in losses with that of his own.
Hence, for the sake of peace and quiet, he adopted every little expedient of which he was master to shun his many creditors and acquaintance.
“I have secured my little country-house from the wreck of all my bygone wealth,” he sometimes would say; “let me live in peace.”
The “retired” gentleman need not have had recourse to any stratagem to avoid those who once had known him.
His present appearance was so altered, he had become so thin and cadaverous, and his attire withal was so “seedy” and out of fashion, that few would ever have recognized in him the spruce and scrupulously-attired Sir Andrew McTurk of former days, who could boast of having taken “risk” for almost fabulous sums.
It was not the welfare of his only daughter Fanny, or of Phillip Redgill, his promising son in-law, which occasioned his visits to town.
He hated both of them so intensely that he could not mention them without plunging himself into a fearful rage and stammering out a volley of oaths.
His real motive was pure infatuation—to see if there was any earthly prospect of beginning business again, in some shape or form.