“I know nothing about them at all, sir,” said Patrickson, who was a methodical man of business, and whose head was always intent upon what he called the main chance. “I have been in Dublin, and heard no country news.”
“But have you no letter for me? and what brings you over so suddenly to Paris?”
“I have a letter for you somewhere here, sir—only I have so many ‘tis hard to find,” said Patrickson, looking carefully over a parcel of letters in his pocket-book, but with such a drawling slowness of manner as put Ormond quite out of patience. Patrickson laid the letters on the bed one by one. “That’s not it—and that’s not it; that’s for Monsieur un tel, marchand, rue ——; that packet’s from the Hamburgh merchants—What brings me over?—Why, sir, I have business enough, Heaven knows!”
Patrickson was employed not only by Sir Ulick O’Shane, but by many Dublin merchants and bankers, to settle business for them with different houses on the continent. Ormond, without listening to the various digressions he made concerning the persons of mercantile consequence to whom the letters were addressed, or from whom they were answers, pounced upon the letter in Sir Ulick’s handwriting directed to himself, and tore it open eagerly, to see if there was any news of the Annalys. None—they were in Devonshire. The letter was merely a few lines on business—Sir Ulick had now the opportunity he had foreseen of laying out Ormond’s money in the loan most advantageously for him; but there had been an omission in the drawing up of his power of attorney, which had been done in such a hurry on Ormond’s leaving home. It gave power only to sell out of the Three per Cents.; whereas much of Ormond’s money was in the Four per Cents. Another power, Patrickson said, was necessary, and he had brought one for him to sign. Patrickson in his slow manner descanted upon the folly of signing papers in a hurry, just when people were getting into carriages, which was always the way with young gentlemen, he said. He took care that Ormond should do nothing in a hurry now; for he put on his spectacles, and read the power, sparing him not a syllable of the law forms and repetitions. Ormond wrote a few kind lines to Sir Ulick, and earnestly besought him to find out something more about the Annalys. If Miss Annaly were married, it must have appeared in the papers. What delayed the marriage? Was Colonel Albemarle dismissed or accepted?—Where was he?—Ormond said he would be content if Sir Ulick could obtain an answer to that single plain question.
All the time Ormond was writing, Patrickson never stirred his forefinger from the spot where the signature was to be written at the bottom of the power of attorney.
“Pray,” said Ormond, looking up from the paper he going to sign, “pray, Patrickson, are you really and truly an Irishman?”
“By the father’s side, I apprehend, sir—but my mother was English. Stay, sir, if you please—I must witness it.”
“Witness away,” said Ormond; and after having signed this paper, empowering Sir Ulick to sell 30,000l. out of the Four per cents., Ormond lay down, and wishing him a good journey, settled himself to sleep; while Patrickson, packing up his papers, deliberately said, “He hoped to be in London in short; but that he should go by Havre de Grace, and that he should be happy to execute any commands for Mr. Ormond there or in Dublin.” More he would have said, but finding Ormond by this time past reply, he left the room on tiptoe. The next morning Madame de Connal returned from the country, and sent Ormond word that she should expect him at her assembly that night.
Every body complimented Madame de Connal upon the improvement which the country air had made in her beauty—even her husband was struck with it, and paid her his compliments on the occasion; but she stood conversing so long with Ormond, that the faro-players grew impatient: she led him to the table, but evidently had little interest herself in the game. He played at first with more than his usual success, but late at night his fortune suddenly changed; he lost—lost—till at last he stopped, and rising from table, said he had no more money, and he could play no longer. Connal, who was not one of the players, but merely looking on, offered to lend him any sum he pleased. “Here’s a rouleau—here are two rouleaus—what will you have?” said Connal.
Ormond declined playing any more: he said that he had lost the sum he had resolved to lose, and there he would stop. Connal did not urge him, but laughing said, that a resolution to lose at play was the most extraordinary he had ever heard.