The Dukes of Burlington and Shropshire
exchanged a few hundreds; the Duchess and Charles Annesley a few gloves.
The consummate Lord Bloomerly, though a backer of the favourite, in
compliment to his host, contrived to receive from all parties, and
particularly from St. Maurice. The sweet little Wrekins were absolutely
ruined. Sir Lucius looked blue, but he had hedged; and Lord Squib looked
yellow, but some doubted. Lord Hounslow was done, and Lord Bagshot was
diddled.
The Duke of St. James was perhaps the heaviest sufferer on the field,
and certainly bore his losses the best. Had he seen the five-and-twenty
thousand he was minus counted before him, he probably would have been
staggered; but as it was, another crumb of his half-million was gone.
The loss existed only in idea. It was really too trifling to think
of, and he galloped up to Miss Dacre, and was among the warmest of her
congratulators.
'I would offer your Grace my sympathy for your congratulations,' said
Miss Dacre, in a rather amiable tone; 'but' (and here she resumed her
air of mockery) 'you are too great a man to be affected by so light a
casualty.
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