They went on playing. "By-the-bye," said the general, "who is that exceedingly pretty child that the old lady has got with her?"
"A child she has adopted," said the old gentleman. "A grand-daughter of an old friend who died in poverty. She is a noble-hearted old soul, the jockey, with all her absurdities."
"Who was she?" said the general. "(That was rather a fluke, was it not?)"
"She? Why, a daughter of old Cingle Headstall's, the mad old Cheshire baronet—you don't remember him, of course, but your father knew him. Drove his tandem round and round Berkeley square for four hours on a foggy night, under the impression he was going home to Hounslow, and then fired at the watchman who tried to put him right, taking him for a highwayman. The son went to France, and was lost sight of in the revolution; so the girl came in for what money there was: not very much, I take it. This poor thing, who was pretty and clever enough, but without education, having been literally brought up in a stable, captivated the sagacious Ascot, and made him a capital wife."
"I suppose she'll portion this girl, then; you say she had money?"
"H'm," said the old gentleman, "there's a story about the aforesaid money, which is told in different ways, but which amounts to this, that the money is no more. Hallo, our marker is getting sleepy."
"Not at all, sir," said Charles. "If you will excuse me a moment, I will come back."
He ran across to Lord Welter, who was leaning on his cue. "Can you tell me," said he, "who is that old gentleman?"
"Which old gentleman?"
"That one, with the black eyebrows, playing with General Mainwaring. There, he is taking snuff."