With such qualifications, Dr. Addington was not slow to perceive Sir George’s absence of mind; and presuming on old friendship—­he had attended the younger man from boyhood—­he began to probe for the cause.  Raising his half-filled glass to the light, and rolling the last mouthful on his tongue, ‘I am afraid,’ he said, ’that what I heard in town was true?’

‘What was it?’ Soane asked, rousing himself.

’I heard, Sir George, that my Lady Hazard had proved an inconstant mistress of late?’

‘Yes.  Hang the jade!  And yet—­we could not live without her!’

’They are saying that you lost three thousand to my Lord March, the night before you left town?’

‘Halve it.’

‘Indeed?  Still—­an expensive mistress?’

‘Can you direct me to a cheap one?’ Sir George said rather crustily.

‘No.  But doesn’t it occur to you a wife with money—­might be cheaper?’ the doctor asked with a twinkle in his eye.

Sir George shrugged his shoulders for answer, and turning from the table—­the servant had withdrawn—­brushed the crumbs from his breeches, and sat staring at the lire, his glass in his hand.  ’I suppose—­it will come to that presently,’ he said, sipping his wine.

‘Very soon,’ the doctor answered, drily, ‘unless I am in error.’

Sir George looked at him.  ‘Come, doctor!’ he said.  ’You know something!  What is it?’

’I know that it is town talk that you lost seven thousand last season; and God knows how many thousands in the three seasons before it!’

‘Well, one must live,’ Sir George answered lightly.

‘But not at that rate.’

’In that state of life, doctor, into which God has been pleased—­you know the rest.’

‘In that state of life into which the devil!’ retorted the doctor with heat.’  If I thought that my boy would ever grow up to do nothing better than—­than—­but there, forgive me.  I grow warm when I think of the old trees, and the old pictures, and the old Halls that you fine gentlemen at White’s squander in a night!  Why, I know of a little place in Oxfordshire, which, were it mine by inheritance—­as it is my brother’s—­I would not stake against a Canons or a Petworth!’

’And Stavordale would stake it against a bootjack—­rather than not play at all!’ Sir George answered complacently.

‘The more fool he!’ snapped the doctor.

‘So I think.’

‘Eh?’

‘So I think,’ Sir George answered coolly.  ’But one must be in the fashion, doctor.’

‘One must be in the Fleet!’ the doctor retorted.  ’To be in the fashion you’ll ruin yourself!  If you have not done it already,’ he continued with something like a groan.  ’There, pass the bottle.  I have not patience with you.  One of these fine days you will awake to find yourself in the Rules.’

‘Doctor,’ Soane answered, returning to his point, ‘you know something.’

‘Well—­’