He was living at this time in the house of one of his relatives in Cavendish Square, north of Oxford Street. His uncles and his aunts, and all those who were his natural friends, had clung to him with a tenacity that was surprising; for he had never been true to any of them, and did not even pretend to like them. His father, with whom for many years he had not been on speaking terms, was now dead; but he had sisters whose husbands would still open their houses to him, either in London or in the country;--would open their houses to him, and lend him their horses, and provide him with every luxury which the rich enjoy,--except ready money. When the uttermost stress of pecuniary embarrassment would come upon him, they would pay something to stave off the immediate evil. And so Burgo went on. Nobody now thought of saying much to reproach him. It was known to be waste of words, and trouble in vain. They were still fond of him because he was beautiful and never vain of his beauty;--because in the midst of his recklessness there was always about him a certain kindliness which made him pleasant to those around him. He was soft and gracious with children, and would be very courteous to his lady cousins. They knew that as a man he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved him. 
He was living at this time in the house of one of his relatives in Cavendish Square. His uncles and his aunts had clung to him with surprising tenacity; for he did not even pretend to like them. His father, with whom he had not been on speaking terms, was now dead; but he had sisters whose husbands would still open their houses to him, and lend him horses, and provide him with every luxury - except ready money. Nobody thought of reproaching him. They knew it was a waste of time. They were still fond of him because he was beautiful, yet never vain; and because he had a certain kindliness which made him pleasant. He was soft and gracious with children, and very courteous to his lady cousins. They knew he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved him