“Hm! Did you play with him? He's fond of pasteboard and bones.”
“Never, but for sixpences and a pool of commerce with the ladies.”
“So much the better for both of you. But you played with Will Esmond if he was at home? I will lay ten to one you played with Will Esmond.”
Harry blushed, and owned that of an evening his cousin and he had had a few games at cards.
“And Tom Sampson, the chaplain,” cried Jack Morris, “was he of the party? I wager that Tom made a third, and the Lord deliver you from Tom and Will Esmond together!”
“Nay; the truth is, I won of both of them,” said Mr. Warrington.
“And they paid you? Well, miracles will never cease!”
“I did not say anything about miracles,” remarked Mr. Harry, smiling over his wine.
“And you don't tell tales out of school—the volto sciolto—hey, Mr. Warrington?” says my lord.
“I beg your pardon,” said downright Harry, “French is the only language besides my own of which I know a little.”