Maria and Harry was ended
what need was there of reticence or hypocrisy? The game had been played,
and was over: he had no objection now to speak of its various
moves, stratagems, finesses. "She is my own sister," said my lord,
affectionately; "she won't have many more chances--many more such
chances of marrying and establishing herself. I might not approve of the
match in all respects, and I might pity your ladyship's young Virginian
favourite: but of course such a piece of good fortune was not to be
thrown away, and I was bound to stand by my own flesh and blood."

"Your candour does your lordship honour," says Madame de Bernstein, "and
your love for your sister is quite edifying!"

"Nay, we have lost the game, and I am speaking sans rancune. It is not
for you, who have won, to bear malice," says my lord, with a bow.

Madame de Bernstein protested she was never in her life in better
humour. "Confess, now, Eugene, that visit of Maria to Harry at the
spunging-house--that touching giving up of all his presents to her, was
a stroke of thy invention?"

"Pity for the young man, and a sense of what was due from Maria to her
friend--her affianced lover--in misfortune, sure these were motives
sufficient to make her act as she did," replies Lord Castlewood,
demurely.

"But 'twas you advised her, my good nephew?"

Castlewood, with a shrug of his shoulders, owned that he did advise his
sister to see Mr. Henry Warrington. "But we should have won, in spite
of your ladyship," he continued, "had not the elder brother made his
appearance. And I have been trying to console my poor Maria by showing
her what a piece of good fortune it is after all, that we lost."

"Suppose she had married Harry, and then cousin George had made his
appearance?" remarks the Baroness.

"Effectivement," cries Eugene, taking snuff. "As the grave was to give
up its dead, let us be thankful to the grave for disgorging in time! I
am bound to say, that Mr. George Warrington seems to be a man of sense,
and not more selfish than other elder sons and men of the world. My poor
Molly fancied that he might be a--what shall I say?--a greenhorn perhaps
is the term--like his younger brother. She fondly hoped that he might be
inclined to go share and share alike with Twin junior; in which case, so
infatuated was she about the young fellow, that I believe she would have
taken him. 'Harry Warrington, with half a loaf, might do very well,'
says I, 'but Harry Warringt