have passed the night without explanation; and hearing that Kingston was in the library, he at once hurried there, and found him, seemingly, alone and unoccupied.
"Maynard," exclaimed he, as his secretary entered, "do find something to say—I am dying of ennui."
"I have much to say," replied the other: "whether you may like to hear it, is another question."
The tone of his voice arrested Sir George's attention; a thing not easily done when the matter did not concern himself.
"Why," exclaimed he, "you look as pale as if you intended acting a tragedy instead of writing one! Where do you come from?"
"From Lady Marchmont, to whom I have restored all her letters," replied Maynard.
"Are you knave or fool, or both?" cried Sir George, starting from his seat. "What devil could tempt you to do any thing so absurd?"
"So right, you mean," replied Walter.
"And did you, as I suppose you did,"
