"Does he have fair luck with his racing and his—"
O'Hara smiled grimly.
"Dick is a very changed man, John. He does not keep racehorses, neither does he play cards, save for appearance's sake."
"Dick not play! What then does he do?"
"Manages your estates and conducts his wife to routs. When in town," bitterly, "he inhabits your house."
"Well, there is none else to use it. But I cannot imagine Dick turned sober!"
"'Tis easy to be righteous after the evil is done, I'm thinking!"
My lord ignored this remark. A curious smile played about his mouth.
"Egad, Miles, 'tis very entertaining! I, the erstwhile sober member—what is the matter?—am now the profligate: I dice, I gamble, I rob. Dick the ne'er-do-weel is a saint. He—er—lives a godly and righteous life, and—er—is robbed by his wife's relations. After all, I do not think I envy him overmuch."
"At least, you enjoy life more than he does," said O'Hara, grinning. "For ye have no conscience to reckon with."