“Your lordship,” cried the gentleman in scarlet, “will perhaps remember that you are speaking to a gentleman——”
“Who left Bath, a fortnight ago, under such circumstances as makes it the more necessary for me to warn my friend. No, sir,”—his eye grew hard, and his face stern. “No, sir. Do not bluster or threaten. I will neither play with you, nor suffer my friends to play with you; nor, sir, will I fight with you, unless you happen to attack me upon the road. And, sir, if I see you here to-morrow, the master of the ceremonies will put you to the door by means of his lackeys. Come, Eardesley.”
The gamester, thus roundly accused, began to bluster. His honour was at stake; he had been grossly insulted; he would have the satisfaction of a gentleman; he would let his lordship know that his rank should not protect him. With these noble sentiments, he left the room, and the Wells saw him no more.
Then, seeing me alone, for I had escaped from my court, being weary of compliments and speeches, he came to my chair.
“I saw you, my lord,” I said, “rescue that young gentleman from the man who, I suppose, would have won his money. Is it prudent to engage in such quarrels?”
“The young gentleman,” he replied, “is, in a sense, my ward. The man is a notorious sharper, who hath been lately expelled from Bath, and will now, I think, find it prudent to leave the Wells. I hope, Miss Kitty, that you do not like gaming?”
“Indeed, my lord, I do not know if I should like what I have never tried. ’Tis the first time I have seen card-playing.”
“Then you must have been brought up in a nunnery.”
“Not quite that, but in a village, where, as I have already told you, my father was vicar. I do not know any games of cards.”
“How did you amuse yourself in your village?”