“I like it, Dinah, I positively like it,” said he, with a smile. “I watch him playing the game with a pleasure almost as great as his own; and as I know that the stakes are small, I 'm never vexed at his winning.” “But you seem to forget the encouragement this impunity suggests.” “Perhaps it does, Dinah; and very likely his little rogueries are as much triumphs to him as are all the great political intrigues the glories of some grand statesman.” “Which means that you rather like to be cheated,” said she, scoffingly. “When the loss is a mere trifle, I don't always think it ill laid out.” “And I,” said she, resolutely, “so far from participating in your sentiment, feel it to be an insult and an outrage. There is a sense of inferiority attached to the position of a dupe that would drive me to any reprisals.” “I always said it; I always said it,” cried he, laughing. “The women of our family monopolized all the com-bativeness.” Miss Barrington's eyes sparkled, and her cheek glowed, and she looked like one stung to the point of a very angry rejoinder, when by an effort she controlled her passion, and, taking a letter from her pocket, she opened it, and said, “This is from Withering. He has managed to obtain all the information we need for our journey. We are to sail for Ostend by the regular packet, two of which go every week from Dover. From thence there are stages or canal-boats to Bruges and Brussels, cheap and commodious, he says. He gives us the names of two hotels, one of which--the 'Lamb,' at Brussels--he recommends highly; and the Pension of a certain Madame Ochteroogen, at Namur, will, he opines, suit us better than an inn. In fact, this letter is a little road book, with the expenses marked down, and we can quietly count the cost of our venture before we make it.” “I 'd rather not, Dinah. The very thought of a limit is torture to me. Give me bread and water every day, if you like, but don't rob me of the notion that some fine day I am to be regaled with beef and pudding.” “I don't wonder that we have come to beggary,” said she, passionately. “I don't know what fortune and what wealth could compensate for a temperament like yours.” “You may be right, Dinah. It may go far to make a man squander his substance, but take my word for it, it will help him to bear up under the loss.” If Barrington could have seen the gleam of affection that filled his sister's eyes, he would have felt what love her heart bore him; but he had stooped down to take a caterpillar off a flower, and did not mark it. “Withering has seen young Conyers,” she continued, as her eyes ran over the letter “He called upon him.” Barrington made no rejoinder, though she waited for one. “The poor lad was in great affliction; some distressing news from India--of what kind Withering could not guess--had just reached him, and he appeared overwhelmed by it.” “He is very young for sorrow,” said Barrington, feelingly.