Master Charles’s three to one and five to two had turned out, after all, on the winning side. He had had amazing pieces of luck. “By George! you ladies must wish me joy, and allow me the honour and felicity, as the town sparks say, of treating you to whatever takes your fancy, a prince’s plume, my Lady Bell, a lace apron, Madam Sundon; sure you richly deserve it, and I can afford to please myself for once in my life, since in place of coming to grief by this little transaction, I vow I have made a very good thing of it,” and he thrust his hands braggingly into the pockets of his frock coat. “Yes, I claim my right to a return for my willingness to befriend you, Master Charles,” cried Mrs. Sundon, before Lady Bell could speak. “I thought you were to have a lesson, but I find it to be a snare. I want no lace aprons, though I shall be happy to take one from you, if you like to grant what I ask. Promise me solemnly, sir, on the word of a gentleman, that you will both now and after you have entered the army, do your best to resist betting on cards and horses, at least round a supper-table in the heat of conviviality.” “But—but, Mrs. Sundon,” objected Master Charles, taken aback, becoming immediately crest-fallen, and colouring violently. “No fellow of spirit could be expected to give and keep such a promise. I am not soft in these matters, I think for a novice I have shown myself as sharp as my neighbours,” he drew himself up and laughed, though the laugh was a little forced. “I think—I beg your pardon, but I do think you take advantage of your kindness—I own it was very great, to seek to bind me, as no man not a Molly Coddle and a nincompoop would be bound in the circumstances.” “Oh, Master Charles, think of Henry, Earl of Morland, in the ‘Fool of Quality,’” implored Lady Bell, “and how you were of opinion he was a fine character, and ought to be imitated in this dissipated world.” “Such conduct is very fine in a book and in theory, but it won’t do for bloods in real life and in practice,” he put her off impatiently. “Master Charles, I trust you will know that there are brave men and gallant soldiers too, that no man would dare call Molly Coddles and nincompoops, who yet set their faces against the indiscriminate betting and gambling of this gambling age,” Mrs. Sundon told him plainly; but that was not all. “Charles Kingscote,” she said, appealing to him, face to face and soul to soul, as it were, when she addressed him thus by his Christian name and surname, and with her own fine pale face working with emotion and the anguish of remembrance. “If you only knew the misery and degradation wrought by this curse of gambling—what generous natures have been undone, what happy homes have been cast down in ruins, never to be built up again. Shall I lay bare the sorrows of my life to enlighten you and save you, if I can?”