tumbler of Badminton."

"And bring me one too," sighed out Lord Eugene De Vere, who was a
year older than Alfred Mountchesney, his companion and brother in
listlessness. Both had exhausted life in their teens, and all that
remained for them was to mourn, amid the ruins of their reminiscences,
over the extinction of excitement.

"Well, Eugene, suppose you come with us." said Lord Fitzheron.

"I think I shall go down to Hampton Court and play tennis," said Lord
Eugene. "As it is the Derby, nobody will be there."

"And I will go with you, Eugene," said Alfred Mountchesney, "and we will
dine together afterwards at the Toy. Anything is better than dining in
this infernal London."

"Well, for my part," said Mr Berners. "I do not like your suburban
dinners. You always get something you can't eat, and cursed bad wine."

"I rather like bad wine," said Mr Mountchesney; "one gets so bored with
good wine."

"Do you want the odds against Hybiscus, Berners?" said a guardsman
looking up from his book, which he had been very intently studying.

"All I want is some supper, and as you are not using your place--"

"You shall have it. Oh! here's Milford, he will give them me."

And at this moment entered the room the young nobleman whom we have
before mentioned, accompanied by an individual who was approaching
perhaps the termination of his fifth lustre but whose general air
rather betokened even a less experienced time of life. Tall, with
a well-proportioned figure and a graceful carriage, his countenance
touched with a sensibility that at once engages the affections. Charles
Egremont was not only admired by that sex, whose approval generally
secures men enemies among their fellows, but was at the same time the
favourite of his own.

"Ah, Egremont! come and sit here," exclaimed more than one banqueter.

"I saw you waltzing with the little Bertie, old fellow," said Lord
Fitzheron, "and therefore did not stay to speak to you, as I thought we
should meet here. I am to call for you, mind."

"How shall we all feel this time to-morrow?" said Egremont, smiling.

"The happiest fellow at this moment must be Cockie Graves," said Lord
Milford. "He can have no suspense I have been looking over his book, and
I defy him, whatever happens, not to lose."

"Poor Cockie." said Mr Berners; "he has asked me to dine with him at the
Clarendon on Saturday."

"Cockie is a very good Cockie," said Lord Milford, "and Caravan is a
very good horse;