A howl ensues from Gumbo.
“Gumbo! you scoundrel! has anything happened between Mrs. Betty and you?” asks the black's master.
Mr. Gumbo steps back with great dignity, laying his hand on his heart, and saying, “No, sir; nothing hab happened 'twix' this lady and me.”
“It's my mistress, sir,” cries Betty. “Help! help! here's the letter she have wrote, sir! They have gone and took her, sir!”
“Is it only that old Molly Esmond? She's known to be over head and heels in debt! Dry your eyes in the next room, Mrs. Betty, and let me and Mr. Warrington go on with our game,” says my lord, taking up his cards.
“Help! help her!” cries Betty again. “Oh, Mr. Harry! you won't be a-going on with your cards, when my lady calls out to you to come and help her! Your honour used to come quick enough when my lady used to send me to fetch you at Castlewood!”
“Confound you! can't you hold your tongue?” says my lord, with more choice words and oaths.
But Betty would not cease weeping, and it was decreed that Lord March was to cease winning for that night. Mr. Warrington rose from his seat, and made for the bell, saying:
“My dear lord, the game must be over for to-night. My relative writes to me in great distress, and I am bound to go to her.”
“Curse her! Why couldn't she wait till to-morrow?” cries my lord, testily.