when we can get a chance. But when you
play with the Walmoden, you don't do wrong to lose in moderation; and
many men cheat in that way. Cultivate her. She has taken a fancy to your
beaux yeux. Why should your Excellency not be Governor of Virginia,
sir? You must go and pay your respects to the Duke and his Majesty at
Kensington. The Countess of Yarmouth will be your best friend at court."

"Why should you not introduce me, aunt?" asked Harry.

The old lady's rouged cheek grew a little redder. "I am not in favour at
Kensington," she said. "I may have been once; and there are no faces
so unwelcome to kings as those they wish to forget. All of us want to
forget something or somebody. I dare say our ingenu here would like to
wipe a sum or two off the slate. Wouldst thou not, Harry?"

Harry turned red, too, and so did Maria, and his aunt laughed one of
those wicked laughs which are not altogether pleasant to hear. What
meant those guilty signals on the cheeks of her nephew and niece? What
account was scored upon the memory of either, which they were desirous
to efface? I fear Madame Bernstein was right, and that most folks have
some ugly reckonings written up on their consciences, which we were glad
to be quit of.

Had Maria known one of the causes of Harry's disquiet, the middle-aged
spinster would have been more unquiet still. For some days he had missed
a pocket-book. He had remembered it in his possession on that day when
he drank so much claret at the White Horse, and Gumbo carried him to
bed. He sought for it in the morning, but none of his servants had seen
it. He had inquired for it at the White Horse, but there were no traces
of it. He could not cry the book, and could only make very cautious
inquiries respecting it. He must not have it known that the book was
lost. A pretty condition of mind Lady Maria Esmond would be in, if she
knew that the outpourings of her heart were in the hands of the public!
The letters contained all sorts of disclosures: a hundred family secrets
were narrated by the artless correspondent: there were ever so much
satire and abuse of persons with whom she and Mr. Warrington came in
contact. There were expostulations about his attentions to other ladies.
There was scorn, scandal, jokes, appeals, protests of eternal fidelity;
the usual farrago, dear madam, which you may remember you wrote to your
Edward, when you were engaged to him, and before you became Mrs.
Jones. Would you like those l