An exclamation and an oath proclaimed that he had just burned his finger; but he still persevered.
“At last!” cried he,—“at last!” And just as the flame rose slowly up, Beecher had slipped the letter in his pocket, and substituted the other in its place.
“I'll write 'Private and confidential,'” added Beecher, “to show that the communication is strictly for himself alone.” And now the document was duly sealed, and the name “Lackington” inscribed in the corner.
“I 'll start to-night,” said Davis, as he placed the letter in his pocket-book; “I may have to delay a day in London, to see Fordyce. Where shall I write to you?”
“I'll talk that over with my Lady,” said the other, still trembling with the remnant of his fears. “We dine at six,” added he, as Davis arose to leave the room.
“So Lizzy told me,” said Davis.
“You don't happen to know if she invited Twining, do you?”
“No! but I hope she didn't,” said Grog, sulkily.
“Why so? He's always chatty, pleasant, and agreeable,” said Beecher, whose turn it was now to enjoy the other's irritation.
“He's what I hate most in the world,” said Davis, vindictively; “a swell that can walk into every leg in the Ring,—that's what he is!” And with this damnatory estimate of the light-hearted, easy-natured Adderley Twining, Grog banged the door and departed.