When he got into Piccadilly, he put himself into a cab, and had himself driven to the corner of Munster Court. It was a little street, gloomy to look at, with dingy doors and small houses, but with windows
looking into St. James's Park. There was no way through it, so that he who entered it must either make his way into some house, or come back. He walked up to the door, and then taking out his watch, saw that it was half-past six. It was almost too late for calling. And then this thing that he intended to do required more thought than he had given it. Would it not be well for him that there should be something holy, even to him, in spite of that Devil's advocate who had been so powerful with him. So he turned, and walking slowly back towards Parliament Street, got into another cab, and was taken to his club. "It has come out," said Major M'Mickmack to him, immediately on his entrance, "that when the Dean went to see Brotherton at the hotel, Brotherton called Lady George all the bad names he could put his tongue to."
"I dare say. He is blackguard enough for anything," said De Baron.
"Then the old Dean took his lordship in his arms, and pitched him bang into the fireplace. I had it all from the police myself."
"I always liked the Dean."
"They say he is as strong as Hercules," continued M'Mickmack. "But he is to lose his deanery."
"Gammon!"
"You just ask any of the fellows that know. Fancy a clergyman pitching a Marquis into the fire!"
"Fancy a father not doing so if the Marquis spoke ill of his daughter," said Jack De Baron.