“Very sad, very sad, my dear!” says Sir Miles, wagging his head.
“To think of so much extravagance in one so young!” cries Lady Warrington. “Cards, bets, feasts at taverns of the most wicked profusion, carriage and riding horses, the company of the wealthy and profligate of his own sex, and, I fear, of the most iniquitous persons of ours.”
“Hush, my Lady Warrington!” cries her husband, glancing towards the spotless Dora and Flora, who held down their blushing heads, at the mention of the last naughty persons.
“No wonder my poor children hide their faces!” mamma continues. “My dears, I wish even the existence of such creatures could be kept from you!”
“They can't go to an opera, or the park, without seeing 'em, to be sure,” says Sir Miles.
“To think we should have introduced such a young serpent into the bosom of our family! and have left him in the company of that guileless darling!” and she points to Master Miles.
“Who's a serpent, mamma?” inquires that youth. “First you said cousin Harry was bad: then he was good: now he is bad again. Which is he, Sir Miles?”
“He has faults, like all of us, Miley, my dear. Your cousin has been wild, and you must take warning by him.”
“Was not my elder brother, who died—my naughty brother—was not he wild too? He was not kind to me when I was quite a little boy. He never gave me money, nor toys, nor rode with me, nor—why do you cry, mamma? Sure I remember how Hugh and you were always fight——”
“Silence, sir!” cry out papa and the girls in a breath. “Don't you know you are never to mention that name?”