That story of the ten thousand pounds he had lent to somebody--how improbable it sounded; why might he not have invented it, to strengthen confidence at a critical moment?
The incredible baseness of the man! He, who knew well all that depended upon the safe investment of the St.Neots money--to risk it in this furiously reckless way.

In all the records of City scoundrelism, was there a blacker case?
Raging thus, Warburton became aware that Mrs.Hopper spoke to him.

She had just laid breakfast, and, as usual when she wished to begin a conversation, had drawn back to the door, where she paused.
"That Boxon, the grocer, has had a bad accident, sir." "Boxon ?--grocer ?" "In the Fulham Road, sir; him as Allchin was with." "Ah!" Heedless of her master's gloomy abstraction, Mrs.Hopper continued.

She related that Boxon had been at certain races where he had lost money and got drunk; driving away in a trap, he had run into something, and been thrown out, with serious injuries, which might prove fatal.
"So much the worse for him," muttered Warburton.

"I've no pity to spare for fools and blackguards." "I should think not, indeed sir.