party the night before, where great part of the company were met. There was not one single syllable spoke of anything but cards; the whole scene of the foregoing night was played over again—who lost, or won—who played well, or ill—in short, there was nothing talked of that can be either remembered or repeated.
David led this life for about a week, in the morning at toilettes, the evening at cards, and at night with Mr. Spatter, who constantly pulled to pieces, ridiculed and abused all the people they had been with the day before. He told him stories of ladies who were married to men infinitely their superiors, who raised their fortunes, indulged them in everything they could wish, were wholly taken up in contemplating their charms, and yet were neglected and slighted by them, who would abandon everything that can be thought most valuable rather than lose one evening playing at their darling whist.
David was soon tired of this manner of life, in which he saw no hopes of finding what he was in search of, and in which there was no variety, for the desire of winning seemed to he the only thing thought on by everybody; he observed to his companion here and there a person who played quite carelessly, and did not appear to trouble themselves whether they won or lost. These, Mr. Spatter told him, were a sort of people who had no pleasure in life, but in being with people of quality, and in telling their acquaintance they were such a night at the duchess of———, another time at the countess of———; and although they do not love play themselves, yet as they find it the easiest passport into that company where their whole happiness is centered, they think it a small price to pay for what they esteem so valuable. "But," added he, "the worst of it is, some of them cannot afford to play, but sacrifice that fortune to nothing but the vanity
