ll. Indeed, life would be a blank
without 'em. Almost everything is gone except that. I can't eat my
dinner now, since I lost those last two teeth. Everything goes away from
us in old age. But I still have my cards--thank Heaven, I still have my
cards!" And here she would begin to doze: waking up, however, if my wife
stirred or rose, and imagining that Theo was about to leave her. "Don't
go away, I can't bear to be alone. I don't want you to talk. But I like
to see your face, my dear! It is much pleasanter than that horrid old
Brett's, that I have had scowling about my bedroom these ever so long
years."

"Well, Baroness! still at your cribbage?" (We may fancy a noble Countess
interrupting a game at cards between Theo and Aunt Bernstein.) "Me and
my Lord Esmond have come to see you! Go and shake hands with grandaunt,
Esmond! and tell her ladyship that your lordship's a good boy!"

"My lordship's a good boy," says the child. (Madam Theo used to act
these scenes for me in a very lively way.)

"And if he is, I guess he don't take after his father," shrieks out Lady
Castlewood. She chose to fancy that Aunt Bernstein was deaf, and always
bawled at the old lady.

"Your ladyship chose my nephew for better or for worse," says Aunt
Bernstein, who was now always very much flurried in the presence of the
young Countess.

"But he is a precious deal worse than ever I thought he was. I am
speaking of your Pa, Ezzy. If it wasn't for your mother, my son, Lord
knows what would become of you! We are a-going to see his little Royal
Highness. Sorry to see your ladyship not looking quite so well to-day.
We can't always remain young and law! how we do change as we grow old!
Go up and kiss that lady, Ezzy. She has got a little boy, too. Why,
bless us! have you got the child downstairs?" Indeed, Master Miles was
down below, for special reasons accompanying his mother on her visits to
Aunt Bernstein sometimes; and our aunt desired the mother's company so
much, that she was actually fain to put up with the child. "So you have
got the child here? Oh, you slyboots!" says the Countess. "Guess
you come after the old lady's money! Law bless you! Don't look so
frightened. She can't hear a single word I say. Come, Ezzy. Good-bye,
aunt!" And my lady Countess rustles out of the room.

Did Aunt Bernstein hear her or not? Where was the wit for which the old
lady had been long famous? and was that fire put out, as well as the
brilliancy of her eyes? W