"Please, sir," said young Charles, "I think that is Mrs. Lovely." "It was, boy; it was." "I wish I had known her then," said Charles. "Is your name George, boy?" inquired the grey gentleman in a tone that was half eager. "No, sir, 'tis Charles--after the Prince of Wales." "A Papist, eh?" said the grey gentleman bitterly. "George was too honest a name for that scoundrel. Well, boy, you can stay." "Please, sir, I'd rather go back to my father," said the boy. "He's waiting for me." "Then go and be d----d," said the grey gentleman, and he walked over to the window. Poor little Charles was left standing alone in the big room. He waited a moment, but as the grey gentleman did not turn his head, he edged his way towards the great door. When he reached it, he looked round at his uncle. The latter was still staring out of the window. The child gave a puzzled sigh and with both hands succeeded in turning the handle. The clocks seemed to tick very loudly as he breathlessly closed the door and set out to descend the wide staircase. The canary-coloured gentlemen having vanished he could hold on to the balustrade with both hands without shame. As he crossed the green sunlit lawn, a blackbird flew into the shrubbery with a shrill note of alarm. Then he was in the chariot with his father, and this time he was really fast asleep. And now he was boy and man at once. The picture of the girl with roses became his mother as he had known her, pale and sad. Then it would change and become Miss Phyllida Courteen, strangely like his mother; and sometimes the Queen of Diamonds would be mopping and mowing in a frame of golden Georges. At last these many dancing visions forsook his brain, and he slept a dreamless sleep, not waking until high noon of a wet and gusty day. When he reached the coffee-room, he found Mr. Francis Vernon perusing the latest edition of Mr. Hoyle, and as the weather was dirty, agreed to give Mr. Francis Vernon his revenge. This favour was accorded in the handsomest manner possible and when, late in the afternoon, the young gentlemen all returned from hunting, Mr. Charles Lovely owed Mr. Francis Vernon rather more than he could very easily pay. No doubt the latter's success is to be ascribed to his opportune purchase of the latest edition of Mr. Hoyle. _Chapter the Twelfth_ WET DAYS If cards are the devil's playthings, wet days are certainly his select playtime; and all the days before the Chinese Masquerade were very wet indeed. The Exquisite Mob returned from the Pump Room remarkably depressed in spirit. The forenoons passed away in the coffee-houses and the shops, but in the afternoons when it was wont to exercise itself and air its modes the stuffy parlours of Curtain Wells became vastly tiresome.