fered to the actresses, joking with them. And Mrs. Bracegirdle, when
my Lord Mohun said something rude, turned on him, and asked him what he
did there, and whether he and his friends had come to stab anybody else,
as they did poor Will Mountford? My lord's dark face grew darker at this
taunt, and wore a mischievous, fatal look. They that saw it remembered
it, and said so afterward.

When the play was ended the two parties joined company; and my Lord
Castlewood then proposed that they should go to a tavern and sup.
Lockit's, the "Greyhound," in Charing Cross, was the house selected.
All six marched together that way; the three lords going a-head, Lord
Mohun's captain, and Colonel Westbury, and Harry Esmond, walking behind
them. As they walked, Westbury told Harry Esmond about his old friend
Dick the Scholar, who had got promotion, and was Cornet of the Guards,
and had wrote a book called the "Christian Hero," and had all the Guards
to laugh at him for his pains, for the Christian Hero was breaking the
commandments constantly, Westbury said, and had fought one or two duels
already. And, in a lower tone, Westbury besought young Mr. Esmond to
take no part in the quarrel. "There was no need for more seconds than
one," said the Colonel, "and the Captain or Lord Warwick might easily
withdraw." But Harry said no; he was bent on going through with the
business. Indeed, he had a plan in his head, which, he thought, might
prevent my Lord Viscount from engaging.

They went in at the bar of the tavern, and desired a private room and
wine and cards, and when the drawer had brought these, they began to
drink and call healths, and as long as the servants were in the room
appeared very friendly.

Harry Esmond's plan was no other than to engage in talk with Lord Mohun,
to insult him, and so get the first of the quarrel. So when cards were
proposed he offered to play. "Psha!" says my Lord Mohun (whether wishing
to save Harry, or not choosing, to try the botte de Jesuite, it is
not to be known)--"Young gentlemen from college should not play these
stakes. You are too young."

"Who dares say I am too young?" broke out Harry. "Is your lordship
afraid?"

"Afraid!" cries out Mohun.

But my good Lord Viscount saw the move--"I'll play you for ten moidores,
Mohun," says he. "You silly boy, we don't play for groats here as you
do at Cambridge." And Harry, who had no such sum in his pocket (for his
half-year's salary was always pretty well sp