The earl could hardly gainsay this; but still he could not bring himself to give over so soon the unusual pleasure of blowing up his only son. It was so long since Lord Kilcullen had been regularly in his power, and it might never occur again. So he returned from consideration of the future to a further retrospect on the past. “You certainly have played your cards most foolishly; you have thrown away your money—rather, I should say, my money, in a manner which nothing can excuse or palliate. You might have made the turf a source of gratifying amusement; your income was amply sufficient to enable you to do so; but you have possessed so little self-control, so little judgment, so little discrimination, that you have allowed yourself to be plundered by every blackleg, and robbed by every—everybody in short, who chose to rob you. The same thing has been the case in all your other amusements and pursuits—” “Well, my lord, I confess it all; isn’t that enough?” “Enough, Kilcullen!” said the earl, in a voice of horrified astonishment, “how enough?—how can anything be enough after such a course—so wild, so mad, so ruinous!” “For Heaven’s sake, my lord, finish the list of my iniquities, or you’ll make me feel that I am utterly unfit to become my cousin’s husband.” “I fear you are—indeed I fear you are. Are the horses disposed of yet, Kilcullen?” “Indeed they are not, my lord; nor can I dispose of them. There is more owing for them than they are worth; you may say they belong to the trainer now.” “Is the establishment in Curzon Street broken up?” “To tell the truth, not exactly; but I’ve no thoughts of returning there. I’m still under rent for the house.”