there
must be only one gamester in the family; eh! my covey?' Lord Bagshot,
excited by the unusual affability of the young Duke, grew quite
familiar.

'I have half a mind to look in with you,' said his Grace with a careless
air.

'Oh! come along, by all means. They'll be devilish glad to see you. De
Berghem was saying the other day what a nice fellow you were, and how he
should like to know you. You don't know De Berghem, do you?'

'I have seen him. I know enough of him.'

They quitted the theatre together, and under the guidance of Lord
Bagshot, stopped at a door in Brunswick Terrace. There they found
collected a numerous party, but all persons of consideration. The Baron,
who had once been a member of the diplomatic corps, and now lived in
England, by choice, on his pension and private fortune, received them
with marked courtesy. Proud of his companion, Lord Bagshot's hoarse,
coarse, idiot voice seemed ever braying. His frequent introductions
of the Duke of St. James were excruciating, and it required all the
freezing of a finished manner to pass through this fiery ordeal. His
Grace was acquainted with most of the guests by sight, and to some he
even bowed. They were chiefly men of a certain age, with the exception
of two or three young peers like himself.

There was the Earl of Castlefort, plump and luxurious, with a youthful
wig, who, though a sexagenarian, liked no companion better than a minor.
His Lordship was the most amiable man in the world, and the most lucky;
but the first was his merit, and the second was not his fault. There was
the juvenile Lord Dice, who boasted of having done his brothers out of
their miserable 5,000L. patrimony, and all in one night. But the wrinkle
that had already ruffled his once clear brow, his sunken eye, and his
convulsive lip, had been thrown, we suppose, into the bargain, and, in
our opinion, made it a dear one. There was Temple Grace, who had run
through four fortunes, and ruined four sisters. Withered, though only
thirty, one thing alone remained to be lost, what he called his honour,
which was already on the scent to play booty. There was Cogit, who, when
he was drunk, swore that he had had a father; but this was deemed the
only exception to _in vino Veritas_. Who he was, the Goddess of Chance
alone could decide; and we have often thought that he might bear the
same relation to her as AEneas to the Goddess of Beauty. His age was as
great a mystery as anything else. He