“A quarrel, sir. I had reviewed a work, with the private mark of approval, when it was found out to be a mistake, and I was desired to review it with censure. I expected to be paid for the second review as well as for the first. My employer thought proper to consider it all as one job, and refused—so we parted.”
“Pretty tricks in trade, indeed!” replied Captain M—. “Why, Mr Collier, you appear to have belonged to a gang of literary bravos, whose pens, like stilettoes, were always ready to stab, in the dark, the unfortunate individuals who might be pointed out to them by interest or revenge.”
“I acknowledge the justice of your remark, sir; all that I can offer in my defence is, the excuse of the libeller to Cardinal Richelieu—‘Il faut vivre, monsieur.’”
“And I answer you, with the Cardinal—‘Je ne vois pas la necessité,’” replied Captain M—, with a smile, as he rose to resume his labours.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
He fell, and, deadly pale,
Groaned out his soul.
Milton.
“Do, mamma, come here,” said Emily, as she was looking out of the window of an inn on the road, where they had stopped to take some refreshment—“do come, and see what a pretty lady is in the chariot which has stopped at the door.”
Mrs Rainscourt complied with her daughter’s request, and acknowledged the justice of the remark when she saw the expressive countenance of Susan (now Mrs McElvina), who was listening to the proposal of her husband that they should alight and partake of some refreshment. Susan consented, and was followed by old Hornblow, who, pulling out his watch from his white cassimere femoralia, which he had continued to wear ever since the day of the wedding, declared that they must stop to dine.