My Lord Castlewood had a house in Kensington Square spacious enough to accommodate the several members of his noble family, and convenient for their service at the palace hard by, when his Majesty dwelt there. Her ladyship had her evenings, and gave her card-parties here for such as would come; but Kensington was a long way from London a hundred years since, and George Selwyn said he for one was afraid to go, for fear of being robbed of a night — whether by footpads with crape over their faces, or by ladies in rouge at the quadrille-table, we have no means of saying. About noon on the day after Harry had made his reappearance at White’s, it chanced that all his virtuous kinsfolks partook of breakfast together, even Mr. Will being present, who was to go into waiting in the afternoon.

The ladies came first to their chocolate: them Mr. Will joined in his court suit; finally, my lord appeared, languid, in his bedgown and nightcap, having not yet assumed his wig for the day. Here was news which Will had brought home from the Star and Garter last night, when he supped in company with some men who had heard it at White’s and seen it at Ranelagh!

“Heard what? seen what?” asked the head of the house, taking up his Daily Advertiser.

“Ask Maria!” says Lady Fanny. My lord turns to his elder sister, who wears a face of portentous sadness, and looks as pale as a tablecloth.

“’Tis one of Will’s usual elegant and polite inventions,” says Maria.

“No,” swore Will, with several of his oaths; “it was no invention of his. Tom Claypool of Norfolk saw ’em both at Ranelagh; and Jack Morris came out of White’s, where he heard the story from Harry Warrington’s own lips. Curse him, I’m glad of it!” roars Will, slapping the table. “What do you think of your Fortunate Youth, your Virginian, whom your lordship made so much of, turning out to be a second son?”

“The elder brother not dead?” says my lord.

“No more dead than you are. Never was. It’s my belief that it was a cross between the two.”

“Mr. Warrington is incapable of such duplicity!” cries Maria.

“I never encouraged the fellow, I am sure you will do me justice there,” says my lady. “Nor did Fanny: not we, indeed!”

“Not we, indeed!” echoes my Lady Fanny.

“The fellow is only a beggar, and, I dare say, has not paid for the clothes on his back,” continues Will. “I’m glad of it, for, hang him, I hate him!”

“You don’t regard him with favourable eyes; especially since he blacked yours, Will!” grins my lord. “So the poor fellow has found his brother, and lost his estate!” And here he turned towards his sister Maria, who, although she looked the picture of woe, must have suggested something ludicrous to the humourist near whom she sate; for his lordship, having gazed at her for a minute, burst into a shrill laugh, which caused the poor lady’s face to flush, and presently her eyes to pour over with tears. “It’s a shame! it’s a shame!” she sobbed out, and hid her face in her handkerchief. Maria’s stepmother and sister looked at each other. “We never quite understand your lordship’s humour,” the former lady remarked, gravely.

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