aunt had
that confidential conversation which the latter desired.

She began by scolding him mildly about his extravagance and madcap
frolics (though, in truth, she was charmed with him for both)--he
replied that young men will be young men, and that it was in dutifully
waiting in attendance on his aunt, he had made the acquaintance with
whom he mostly lived at present. She then with some prelude, began to
warn him regarding his cousin, Lord Castlewood; on which he broke into a
bitter laugh, and said the good-natured world had told him plenty about
Lord Castlewood already. "To say of a man of his lordship's rank, or
of any gentleman, 'Don't play with him,' is more than I like to do,"
continued the lady; "but..."

"Oh, you may say on, aunt!" said Harry, with something like an
imprecation on his lips.

"And have you played with your cousin already?" asked the young man's
worldly old monitress.

"And lost and won, madam!" answers Harry, gallantly. "It don't become me
to say which. If we have a bout with a neighbour in Virginia, a bottle,
or a pack of cards, or a quarrel, we don't go home and tell our mothers.
I mean no offence, aunt!" And, blushing, the handsome young fellow went
up and kissed the old lady. He looked very brave and brilliant, with his
rich lace, his fair face and hair, his fine new suit of velvet and gold.
On taking leave of his aunt he gave his usual sumptuous benefaction to
her servants, who crowded round him. It was a rainy wintry day, and my
gentleman, to save his fine silk stockings, must come in a chair. "To
White's!" he called out to the chairmen, and away they carried him to
the place where he passed a great deal of his time.

Our Virginian's friends might have wished that he had been a less
sedulous frequenter of that house of entertainment; but so much may be
said in favour of Mr. Warrington that, having engaged in play, he fought
his battle like a hero. He was not flustered by good luck, and perfectly
calm when the chances went against him. If Fortune is proverbially
fickle to men at play, how many men are fickle to Fortune, run away
frightened from her advances; and desert her, who, perhaps, had never
thought of leaving them but for their cowardice. "By George, Mr.
Warrington," said Mr. Selwyn, waking up in a rare fit of enthusiasm,
"you deserve to win! You treat your luck as a gentleman should, and
as long as she remains with you, behave to her with the most perfect
politeness. Si celere