“Till Friday, then,” said the Prince, holding out his hand. “I have to go up to town in any case, for there is a poor devil of an East India Company’s officer who has written to me in his distress. If I can raise a few hundreds, I shall see him and set things right for him. Now, Mr. Stone, you have your life before you, and I hope it will be one which your uncle may be proud of. You will honour the King, and show respect for the Constitution, Mr. Stone. And, hark ye, you will avoid debt, and bear in mind that your honour is a sacred thing.”
So I carried away a last impression of his sensual, good-humoured face, his high cravat, and his broad leather thighs. Again we passed the strange rooms, the gilded monsters, and the gorgeous footmen, and it was with relief that I found myself out in the open air once more, with the broad blue sea in front of us, and the fresh evening breeze upon our faces.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE BRIGHTON ROAD.
My uncle and I were up betimes next morning, but he was much out of temper, for no news had been heard of his valet Ambrose. He had indeed become like one of those ants of which I have read, who are so accustomed to be fed by smaller ants that when they are left to themselves they die of hunger. It was only by the aid of a man whom the landlord procured, and of Fox’s valet, who had been sent expressly across, that his toilet was at last performed.
“I must win this race, nephew,” said he, when he had finished breakfast; “I can’t afford to be beat. Look out of the window and see if the Lades are there.”
“I see a red four-in-hand in the square, and there is a crowd round it. Yes, I see the lady upon the box seat.”
“Is our tandem out?”
“It is at the door.”
“Come, then, and you shall have such a drive as you never had before.”
He stood at the door pulling on his long brown driving-gauntlets and giving his orders to the ostlers.