We then entered into conversation, and as I discovered that he, like half the rest of the world, had heard all about Worcester and me, I consulted him as to what was to be done.
"Don't you know Fisher, the lady-killer of these parts?" he inquired.
"Heaven forbid!" said I.
"Why so?" asked the general. "He is a most particularly sharp fellow, and, being a lawyer who knows who you are and all about you, he is the very man to consult."
"But then, I am so afraid of the persons with whom I am living," said I.
"Be assured," answered the general, "that Fisher will be secret as to your business. I will tell him you mean to apply to him, and you may depend upon his honour. I am sure he will put you up to a plan of making that vile, shabby, selfish Duke of Beaufort treat you better."
"But why is he called a lady-killer?"
"He is the beauty of Devonshire. Such black eyes! And six foot high!" answered the general.
"The very things I hate in a man, so I am safe, and may consult your Mr. Fisher, and yet hope to die a natural death after all."
I took my leave of this comical old man, and, on the very same evening, addressed the following note to the gay Mr. Fisher of Lyme Regis.