Mowbray remained for a few minutes by himself, and reflected with delight upon the probable consequences of this match;--the advancement of his sister--and, above all, the various advantages which must necessarily accrue to himself, by so close an alliance with one whom he had good reason to think deep _in the secret_, and capable of rendering him the most material assistance in his speculations on the turf and in the sporting world. He then sent a servant to let Miss Mowbray know that he intended to breakfast with her. "I suppose, John," said Clara, as her brother entered the apartment, "you are glad of a weaker cup this morning than those you were drinking last night--you were carousing till after the first cock." "Yes," said Mowbray, "that sandbed, old MacTurk, upon whom whole hogsheads make no impression, did make a bad boy of me--but the day is over, and they will scarce catch me in such another scrape.--What did you think of the masks?" "Supported as well," said Clara, "as such folk support the disguise of gentlemen and ladies during life; and that is, with a great deal of bustle, and very little propriety." "I saw only one good mask there, and that was a Spaniard," said her brother. "O, I saw him too," answered Clara; "but he wore his visor on. An old Indian merchant, or some such thing, seemed to me a better character--the Spaniard did nothing but stalk about and twangle his guitar, for the amusement of my Lady Binks, as I think." "He is a very clever fellow, though, that same Spaniard," rejoined Mowbray--"Can you guess who he is?" "No, indeed; nor shall I take the trouble of trying. To set to guessing about it, were as bad as seeing the whole mummery over again." "Well," replied her brother, "you will allow one thing at least--Bottom was well acted--you cannot deny that." "Yes," replied Clara, "that worthy really deserved to wear his ass's head to the end of the chapter--but what of him?" "Only conceive that he should be the very same person with that handsome Spaniard," replied Mowbray. "Then there is one fool fewer than I thought there was," replied Clara, with the greatest indifference. Her brother bit his lip. "Clara," he said, "I believe you are an excellent good girl, and clever to boot, but pray do not set up for wit and oddity; there is nothing in life so intolerable as pretending to think differently from other people.--That gentleman was the Earl of Etherington." This annunciation, though made in what was meant to be an imposing tone, had no impression on Clara. "I hope he plays the peer better than the Fidalgo," she replied, carelessly. "Yes," answered Mowbray, "he is one of the handsomest men of the time, and decidedly fashionable--you will like him much when you see him in private." "It is of little consequence whether I do or no," answered Clara. "You mistake the matter," said Mowbray, gravely; "it may be of considerable consequence."