"Remember, lad," advised Sheridan, "you are a friend and courtier of only three months' standing. Sir Percival has been Wales's companion since their boyhood."
"Then God help us," said Moore in despair. "There is nothing I can do. Stay! I forgot McDermot. He has asked me to write him an eastern romance in verse and offered to pay liberally in advance."
"That old skinflint will faint at the thought of a thousand pounds."
"It is my only chance, Sherry. Where is the old fellow?"
"I saw him in the smoking-room a few minutes ago," said Brummell. "No doubt you will find him still there."
"I 'll not lose a moment," said Moore. "It is a forlorn hope, but he 'll find the hardest task of his life will be to give me 'No' for an answer."
"But first, Tom," said Sheridan, wisely, "you must see Mr. Dyke. Perhaps it is not so bad a matter as we think."
"You are right, Sherry," replied Moore, his spirits recovering a little at the thought that, after all, the danger might have been exaggerated.
But this desperate hope was not destined to be of long life, for Moore found Mr. Dyke in a quiet nook, crushed and despairing. He had just left Sir Percival, who in a few cold words had explained to the hapless old man the terrible trap in which he had been caught.
"Take a half hour to think over my proposition," the baronet had said as he left the aged poet. "When that time has passed, acquaint your daughter with my wishes. She will do anything, even marry me, I feel sure, to extricate you from your present predicament."