y
played for rouleaux of ten pounds each, but I took out my pocket-book as
boldly as tho' I had never played for less, and laid my stake upon the
board. Fox lost, again and again; but he treated his ill-luck with
such a raillery of contemptuous wit, that we must needs laugh with him.
Comyn, too, lost, and at supper excused himself, saying that he had
promised his mother, the dowager countess, not to lose more than a
quarter's income at a sitting. But I won and won, until the fever of it
got into my blood, and as the first faint light of that morning crept
into the empty streets, we were still at it, Fox vowing that he never
waked up until daylight. That the best things he said in the House came
to him at dawn.

CHAPTER XXXII. LADY TANKERVILLE'S DRUM-MAJOR

The rising sun, as he came through the little panes of the windows,
etched a picture of that room into my brain. I can see the twisted
candles with their wax smearing the sticks, the chairs awry, the tables
littered with blackened pipes, and bottles, and spilled wine and tobacco
among the dice; and the few that were left of my companions, some with
dark lines under their eyes, all pale, but all gay, unconcerned, witty,
and cynical; smoothing their ruffles, and brushing the ashes and snuff
from the pattern of their waistcoats. As we went downstairs, singing a
song Mr. Foote had put upon the stage that week, they were good enough
to declare that I should never be permitted to go back to Maryland. That
my grandfather should buy me a certain borough, which might be had for
six thousand pounds.

The drawing-room made a dismal scene, too, after the riot and disorder
of the night. Sleepy servants were cleaning up, but Fox vowed that they
should bring us yet another bottle before going home. So down we sat
about the famous old round table, Fox fingering the dents the gold had
made in the board, and philosophizing; and reciting Orlando Furioso in
the Italian, and Herodotus in the original Greek. Suddenly casting his
eyes about, they fell upon an ungainly form stretched on a lounge, that
made us all start.

"Bully!" he cried; "I'll lay you fifty guineas that Mr. Carvel gets the
Beauty, against Chartersea."

This roused me.

"Nay, Mr. Fox, I beg of you," I protested, with all the vehemence I
could muster. "Miss Manners must not be writ down in such a way."

For answer he snapped his fingers at the drowsy Brooks, who brought the
betting book.

"There!" says he; "