“Well, Franky dear?”
“You’ll tip me all the same, you know, when I go back——” and here he broke out into a laugh. “I say, Ma, shall I tell you something?”
The Begum expressed her desire to hear this something, and her son and heir continued:
“When me and Strong was down at the grand stand after the race, and I was talking to Leggat minor, who was there with his governor, I saw Pa look as savage as a bear. And I say, Ma, Leggat minor told me that he heard his governor say that Pa had lost seven thousand backing the favourite. I’ll never back the favourite when I’m of age. No, no—hang me if I do: leave me alone, Strong, will you?”
“Captain Strong! Captain Strong! is this true?” cried out the unfortunate Begum. “Has Sir Francis been betting again? He promised me he wouldn’t. He gave me his word of honour he wouldn’t.”
Strong, from his place on the box, had overheard the end of young Clavering’s communication, and was trying in vain to stop his unlucky tongue.
“I’m afraid it’s true, ma’am,” he said, turning round, “I deplore the loss as much as you can. He promised me as he promised you; but the play is too strong for him! he can’t refrain from it.”
Lady Clavering at this sad news burst into a fit of tears. She deplored her wretched fate as the most miserable of women, she declared she would separate, and pay no more debts for the ungrateful man. She narrated with tearful volubility a score of stories only too authentic, which showed how her husband had deceived, and how constantly she had befriended him: and in this melancholy condition, whilst young Hopeful was thinking about the two guineas which he himself had won; and the Major revolving, in his darkened mind, whether certain plans which he had been forming had better not be abandoned; the splendid carriage drove up at length to the Begum’s house in Grosvenor Place; the idlers and boys lingering about the place to witness, according to public wont, the close of the Derby Day, cheering the carriage as it drew up, and envying the happy folks who descended from it.
“And it’s for the son of this man that I am made a beggar!” Blanche said, quivering with anger, as she walked upstairs leaning on the Major’s arm—“for this cheat—for this blackleg—for this liar—for this robber of women.”
“Calm yourself, my dear Miss Blanche,” the old gentleman said; “I pray calm yourself. You have been hardly treated, most unjustly. But remember that you have always a friend in me, and trust to an old fellow who will try and serve you.”