meanness, would, one might imagine, scare away all who have yet other and
softer deities to worship. But, in fact, the fault of youth is that it
can rarely resist whatever is the Mode. Gaming, in all countries, is the
vice of an aristocracy. The young find it already established in the best
circles; they are enticed by the habit of others, and ruined when the
habit becomes their own.

"You look feverish, Percy," said Saville, as he met his pupil in the Park.
"I don't wonder at it; you lost infernally last night."

"More than I can pay," replied Percy, with a quivering lip.

"No! you shall pay it to-morrow, for you shall go shares with me to-night.
Observe," continued Saville, lowering his voice, "_I never lose_."

"How _never?_"

"Never, unless by design. I play at no game where chance only presides.
Whist is my favourite game: it is not popular: I am sorry for it. I take
up with other games,--I am forced to do it; but, even at rouge et noir, I
carry about with me the rules of whist. I calculate--I remember."

"But hazard?"

"I never play at that," said Saville, solemnly. "It is the devil's game;
it defies skill. Forsake hazard, and let me teach you ecarte; it is
coming into fashion."

Saville took great pains with Godolphin; and Godolphin, who was by nature
of a contemplative, not hasty mood, was no superficial disciple. As his