Dear M.,
Your father cut up very rough,—about money. Perhaps you had better see him yourself; or would your mother?
Yours always,
F.
This, as directed, he put under cover to Madame Didon,—Grosvenor Square, and posted at the club. He had put nothing at any rate in the letter which could commit him.
There was generally on Sundays a house dinner, so called, at eight o'clock. Five or six men would sit down, and would always gamble afterwards. On this occasion Dolly Longestaffe sauntered in at about seven in quest of sherry and bitters, and Felix found the opportunity a good one to speak of his money. "You couldn't cash your I. O. U.'s for me to-morrow;—could you?"
"To-morrow! oh, lord!"
"I'll tell you why. You know I'd tell you anything because I think we are really friends. I'm after that daughter of Melmotte's."
"I'm told you're to have her."
"I don't know about that. I mean to try at any rate. I've gone in you know for that Board in the city."
"I don't know anything about Boards, my boy."
"Yes, you do, Dolly. You remember that American fellow, Montague's friend, that was here one night and won all our money."
"The chap that had the waistcoat, and went away in the morning to California. Fancy starting to California after a hard night. I always wondered whether he got there alive."