Harley, though he had no great relish for the attempt, could not resist the torrent of motives that assaulted him, and a day was fixed for his departure.

The day before he set out he went to take leave of Mr. Walton—­there was another person of the family to whom also the visit was intended.  For Mr. Walton had a daughter; and such a daughter!

As her father had some years retired to the country, Harley had frequent opportunities of seeing her.  He looked on her for some time merely with that respect and admiration which her appearance seemed to demand; he heard her sentiments with peculiar attention, but seldom declared his opinions on the subject.  It would be trite to observe the easy gradation from esteem to love; in the bosom of Harley there scarce needed a transition.

Harley’s first effort to interview the baronet met with no success, but he resolved to make another attempt, fortified with higher notions of his own dignity, and with less apprehensions of repulse.  By the time he had reached Grosvenor Square and was walking along the pavement which led to the baronet’s he had brought his reasoning to the point that by every rule of logic his conclusions should have led him to a thorough indifference in approaching a fellow-mortal, whether that fellow-mortal was possessed of six or six thousand pounds a year.  Nevertheless, it is certain that when he approached the great man’s door he felt his heart agitated by an unusual pulsation.

He observed a young gentleman coming out, dressed in a white frock and a red laced waistcoat; who, as he passed, very politely made him a bow, which Harley returned, though he could not remember ever having seen him before.  The stranger asked Harley civilly if he was going to wait on his friend the baronet.  “For I was just calling,” said he, “and am sorry to find that he is gone some days into the country.”

Harley thanked him for his information, and turned from the door, when the other observed that it would be proper to leave his name, and very obligingly knocked for that purpose.

“Here is a gentleman, Tom, who meant to have waited on your master.”

“Your name, if you please, sir?”

“Harley.”

“You’ll remember, Tom, Harley.”

The door was shut.

“Since we are here,” said the stranger, “we shall not lose our walk if we add a little to it by a turn or two in Hyde Park.”

The conversation as they walked was brilliant on the side of his companion.

When they had finished their walk and were returning by the corner of the park they observed a board hung out of a window signifying, “An excellent ordinary on Saturdays and Sundays.”  It happened to be Saturday, and the table was covered for the purpose.

“What if we should go in and dine, sir?” said the young gentleman.  Harley made no objection, and the stranger showed him the way into the parlour.

Over against the fire-place was seated a man of a grave aspect, who wore a pretty large wig, which had once been white, but was now of a brownish yellow; his coat was a modest coloured drab; and two jack-boots concealed in part the well-mended knees of an old pair of buckskin breeches.  Next him sat another man, with a tankard in his hand and a quid of tobacco in his cheek, whose dress was something smarter.