"I scarcely ventured to hope you would coom, Lord Lilburne, the night is so cold."
"You did not allow sufficiently, then, for the dulness of my solitary inn and the attractions of your circle. Aha! whist, I see."
"You play sometimes?"
"Very seldom, now; I have sown all my wild oats, and even the ace of spades can scarcely dig them out again."
"Ha! ha! vara gude."
"I will look on;" and Lord Lilburne drew his chair to the table, exactly opposite to Mr. Gawtrey.
The old gentleman turned to Philip.
"An extraordinary man, Lord Lilburne; you have heard of him, of course?"
"No, indeed; what of him?" asked the young man, rousing himself.
"What of him?" said the old gentleman, with a smile; "why the newspapers, if you ever read them, will tell you enough of the elegant, the witty Lord Lilburne; a man of eminent talent, though indolent. He was wild in his youth, as clever men often are; but, on attaining his title and fortune, and marrying into the family of the then premier, he became more sedate. They say he might make a great figure in politics if he would. He has a very high reputation—very. People do say that he is still fond of pleasure; but that is a common failing amongst the aristocracy. Morality is only found in the middle classes, young gentleman. It is a lucky family, that of Lilburne; his sister, Mrs. Beaufort—"