sing
sorrow at the blank aspect of the rooms lately enlivened by countenances
so frank and friendly, may have crossed the young gentleman's mind; but
he dines at the White Horse at four o'clock, and eats his dinner and
calls fiercely for his bottle. Poor little Hester will choke over her
tea about the same hour when the Lamberts arrive to sleep at the house
of their friends at Westerham. The young roses will be wan in her cheeks
in the morning, and there will be black circles round her eyes. It was
the thunder: the night was hot: she could not sleep: she will be better
when she gets home again the next day. And home they come. There is the
gate where he fell. There is the bed he lay in, the chair in which he
used to sit--what ages seem to have passed! What a gulf between to-day
and yesterday! Who is that little child calling her chickens, or
watering her roses yonder? Are she and that girl the same Hester
Lambert? Why, she is ever so much older than Theo now--Theo, who has
always been so composed, and so clever, and so old for her age. But in
a night or two Hester has lived--oh, long, long years! So have many
besides: and poppy and mandragora will never medicine them to the sweet
sleep they tasted yesterday.

Maria Esmond saw the Lambert cavalcade drive away, and felt a grim
relief. She looks with hot eyes at Harry when he comes into his aunt's
card-tables, flushed with Barbeau's good wine. He laughs, rattles in
reply to his aunt, who asks him which of the girls is his sweetheart? He
gaily says he loves them both like sisters. He has never seen a better
gentleman, nor better people, than the Lamberts. Why is Lambert not a
general? He has been a most distinguished officer: his Royal Highness
the Duke is very fond of him. Madame Bernstein says that Harry must make
interest with Lady Yarmouth for his protege.

"Elle ravvole de fous, cher bedid anche!" says Madame Bernstein,
mimicking the Countess's German accent. The Baroness is delighted with
her boy's success. "You carry off the hearts of all the old women,
doesn't he, Maria?" she says, with a sneer at her niece, who quivers
under the stab.

"You were quite right, my dear, not to perceive that she cheated
at cards, and you play like a grand seigneur," continues Madame de
Bernstein.

"Did she cheat?" cries Harry, astonished. "I am sure, ma'am, I saw no
unfair play."

"No more did I, my dear, but I am sure she cheated. Bah! every woman
cheats, I and Maria included,