Terence.

"Of whom are you talking, sir?" said Lord Colambre.

"Of whom? Oh, I beg your lordship's pardon--I thought I was talking to
my lord; but, in other words, as you are her son, I'm persuaded her
ladyship, your mother, will prove herself a reasonable woman--when she
sees she can't help it. So, my Lord Clonbrony, cheer up; a great deal
may be done by the fear of Mordicai, and an execution, especially now
there's no prior creditor. Since there's no reserve between you and
I now, my Lord Colambre," said Sir Terence, "I must tell you all,
and how we shambled on those months while you were in Ireland. First,
Mordicai went to law, to prove I was in a conspiracy with your father,
pretending to be prior creditor, to keep him off and out of his own;
which, after a world of swearing and law--law always takes time to do
justice, that's one comfort--the villain proved at last to be true
enough, and so cast us; and I was forced to be paid off last week. So
there's no prior creditor, or any shield of pretence that way. Then
his execution was coming down upon us, and nothing to stay it till I
thought of a monthly annuity to Mordicai, in the shape of a wager.
So the morning after he cast us, I went to him: 'Mr. Mordicai,' says
I, 'you must be _plased_ to see a man you've beaten so handsomely;
and though I'm sore, both for myself and my friend, yet you see I
can laugh still, though an execution is no laughing matter, and
I'm sensible you've one in petto in your sleeve for my friend Lord
Clonbrony. But I'll lay you a wager of a hundred guineas on paper,
that a marriage of his son with an heiress, before next Lady-day, will
set all to rights, and pay you with a compliment too."

"Good heavens, Sir Terence! surely you said no such thing?"