“Some one told me that she had become a Soeur de Charite.”
“What a pity! So they 're all broken up, I see.”
“Completely so.”
“Then what have you got in their place?”
“Nothing fast, my Lord, except, perhaps, your friends the Onslows.”
“Yes; they 're going it, I hear. Is n't there a rich niece, or cousin, or something of that sort, with them?”
“They've got a prettyish girl, called Dalton; but as to her being rich, I think it very unlikely, seeing that her family are living in Germany in a state of the very closest poverty.”
“And Master George, how does he carry on the war?” said the Viscount, who seemed quite heedless of the other's correction.
“He plays a little peddling ecarte now and then; but you can see that he has burned his fingers, and dreads the fire. They say he 's in love with the Dalton girl.”
“Of course he is, if they live in the same house; and he 's just the kind of fool to marry her, too. Who 's that little fellow, listening to us?”