bert, pointing to a young gentleman who stood with a crowd round him;
and presently the stout Duke of Cumberland came up to our little group.

His Royal Highness held out his hand to his old companion-in-arms.
"Congratulate you on your promotion, Lambert," he said good-naturedly.
Sir Miles Warrington's eyes were ready to burst out of his head with
rapture.

"I owe it, sir, to your Royal Highness's good offices," said the
grateful General.

"Not at all; not at all: ought to have had it a long time before. Always
been a good officer; perhaps there'll be some employment for you soon.
This is the gentleman whom James Wolfe introduced to me?"

"His brother, sir."

"Oh, the real Fortunate Youth! You were with poor Ned Braddock in
America--a prisoner, and lucky enough to escape. Come and see me, sir,
in Pall Mall. Bring him to my levee, Lambert." And the broad back of the
Royal Prince was turned to our friends.

"It is raining! You came on foot, General Lambert? You and George must
come home in my coach. You must and shall come home with me, I say. By
George, you must! I'll have no denial," cried the enthusiastic Baronet;
and he drove George and the General back to Hill Street, and presented
the latter to my Lady Warrington and his darlings, Flora and Dora, and
insisted upon their partaking of a collation, as they must be hungry
after their ride. "What, there is only cold mutton? Well, an old soldier
can eat cold mutton. And a good glass of my Lady Warrington's own
cordial, prepared with her own hands, will keep the cold wind out.
Delicious cordial! Capital mutton! Our own, my dear General," says the
hospitable Baronet, "our own from the country, six years old if a day.
We keep a plain table; but all the Warringtons since the Conqueror have
been remarkable for their love of mutton; and our meal may look a little
scanty, and is, for we are plain people, and I am obliged to keep my
rascals of servants on board-wages. Can't give them seven-year-old
mutton, you know."

Sir Miles, in his nephew's presence and hearing, described to his wife
and daughters George's reception at court in such flattering terms that
George hardly knew himself, or the scene at which he had been present,
or how to look his uncle in the face, or how to contradict him before
his family in the midst of the astonishing narrative he was relating.
Lambert sat by for a while with open eyes. He, too, had been at
Kensington. He had seen none of the wonders