"Oh no, dear! fortunately," laughed Mrs. de Burgh, "not often; he is very lucky in general," but checking herself, as she saw Mary's shocked countenance, "I mean," and she hesitated, "that after all he has not so very decided a taste for this sort of thing," and Mrs. de Burgh laughed again, saying: "but, my dear girl, do not look so very serious upon the subject, what is there so very shocking in it after all."
Mary thought it was a subject, to her at least, of most serious importance and concern. A new and uncomfortable misgiving began to arise in her mind.
Was it in any way relating to this propensity in Eugene Trevor, against which Louis de Burgh originally warned her—and did it in reality—more than the reason which Eugene had brought forth to her brother, tend to interfere in any way with her happiness? So strongly did this idea suddenly possess her, that she could not refrain from asking Mrs. de Burgh whether she thought this was the case. Her cousin's evasive answer did not tend much to the removal of her suspicions.
Eugene certainly did play—did bet a little on the turf. She thought Mary had always been aware of that—men must have some pursuit, some excitement. If it were not one thing it was another—equally—perhaps one might call it—"not quite right;" however, all the best men in London were on the turf. Eugene was only like the rest, but with married men, it was quite different.
"Indeed, Mary," the fair lady continued, "Eugene always assures me, he means to give up everything of the sort when he marries, and I am quite sure he will do so. I only wish you were married, dear."
Mary only sighed.
"You are not getting weary of your engagement, Mary?" Mrs. de Burgh inquired.
"Weary!—oh, no, Olivia. I was sighing for Eugene's sake."
"You may well do so, for he is, I assure you, very unhappy at all this delay."
Mary shook her head, and her lip curled a little disdainfully. The gesture seemed to say, "Whose fault is it now?"