The latter alternative was chosen.  My father went down to run his last
horse at Newmarket, and my mother received nine hundred people in a
Turkish tent.  Both were equally fortunate, the Greek and the Turk; my
father's horse lost, in consequence of which he pocketed five thousand
pounds; and my mother looked so charming as a Sultana, that Seymour
Conway fell desperately in love with her. 

Mr.  Conway had just caused two divorces; and of course, all the women in
London were dying for him--judge then of the pride which Lady Frances
felt at his addresses.  The end of the season was unusually dull, and my
mother, after having looked over her list of engagements, and ascertained
that she had none remaining worth staying for, agreed to elope with her
new lover. 

The carriage was at the end of the square.  My mother, for the first time
in her life, got up at six o'clock.  Her foot was on the step, and her
hand next to Mr.  Conway's heart, when she remembered that her favourite
china monster and her French dog were left behind.  She insisted on
returning--re-entered the house, and was coming down stairs with one