"He's not Jack's son at all; you know that well enough, Tom. Crawford was this fellow's father."
"Surely, you don't believe that old scandal, Charles?"
"Of course I do, this fellow's the dead spit of Crawford. The only difference between them is that he was a devilish good soldier, one of the best we had in the army. I didn't like the fellow, but I'll say that for him. This chap, though, is a waster, so his regiment say. They can't stand him there, and that, as you know, Tom, is a bad sign, a damn bad sign."
"I hope Lucy hasn't taken a fancy to him. It's worrying me a lot, Charles."
"Not she, she's far too sensible. If she did, we'd have to stop it, that's all. I tell you, Tom, I'd sooner see the girl in a convent, or—yes, I would—dead, begad, than see her married to that fellow."
"Oh come, Charles."
"Yes, I would. There's something wrong about the chap; he sets me all on edge; he—— Hullo, Robson, seen my niece?"
"She's walking home with Graeme, General, asked me to let you know. She said she'd be at the house before the waggonette."
"Oh!" said Sir Thomas.
"Damn!" muttered the General.