I returned to Amy's just as her black pudding was being served up, and for once in my life I met Luttrell without Nugent.
"Nugent is not dead, I hope?" said I.
"Oh no," answered Amy, "he has just taken out one of his ladies in his large blue remise."
"Shocking work!" Luttrell observed, with just as pious a face, turned towards the ceiling as though he had not lately stepped out of window for love and regard of that fair she who set his brain a madding.
Amy was in a great hurry to go to the opera, and we were comfortably seated in my private box before eight o'clock, and soon visited by my late, mild, and gentle acquaintance, Lord William Russell, who really appeared very glad to meet with me. In the room downstairs we mustered a tolerably brilliant number of beaux about us, for Paris; but Paris was not London. Among them was Lord Fife, who came sailing towards me the moment I entered the room.
"How do you do? How do you do?" said Fife. "Very glad to see you in Paris. Who would have thought to find you here? By the bye, you sent me the greatest rogue in the world some time ago, who told me a long story about having served: all entirely humbug. I know Spain well enough, and he had never been there in his life. Could not give the least description of it."
"I am truly sorry that I threw away five pounds on him then; for I might have guessed that your kindness would not have refused to assist him if he had been deserving."
"I did not refuse," answered Fife. "You know my way, I give to everybody, good, bad, or indifferent. I gave him ten pounds, and told him he was the greatest rascal I had ever met with."
I resolved never to be duped again.
"May I presume to inquire after the petite santé of Miss Eliza Higgins?" I asked.