es a
very handsome fellow, while the blushing youth casts down his eyes
before hers.

"Upon my word, my dear Colonel," says old Lady Kew, nodding her head
shrewdly, "I think we were right."

"No doubt right in everything your ladyship does, but in what
particularly?" asks the Colonel.

"Right to keep him out of the way. Ethel has been disposed of these ten
years. Did not Ann tell you? How foolish of her! But all mothers like to
have young men dying for their daughters. Your son is really the
handsomest boy in London. Ethel, my dear! Colonel Newcome must present
us to Mrs. Mackenzie and Miss Mackenzie;" and Ethel, giving a nod to
Clive, with whom she had talked for a minute or two, again puts her hand
into her uncle's and walks towards Mrs. Mackenzie.

Let the artist give us a likeness of Ethel. She is seventeen years old,
rather taller than the majority of women. Youth looks out of her bright
eyes and flashes scorn or denial, perhaps too readily, when she
encounters flattery or meanness. Her smile, when it lights up her face
and eyes, is as beautiful as spring sunshine. Her countenance somewhat
grave and haughty, on occasion brightens with humour or beams with
kindliness and affection.

That night in the drawing room we found the two young ladies engaged
over an album, containing a number of Clive's drawings made in the time
of his very early youth, and Miss Ethel seemed to be very much pleased
with these performances.

Old Major Pendennis, whom I met earlier in the day, made some
confidential remarks concerning Miss Ethel and her relatives, which I
set down here. "Your Indian Colonel," says he, "seems a worthy man. He
don't seem to know much of the world and we are not very intimate. They
say he wanted to marry your friend Clive to Lady Ann's daughter, an
exceedingly fine girl; one of the prettiest girls come out this season.
And that shows how monstrous ignorant of the world Colonel Newcome is.
His son could no more get that girl than he could marry one of the royal
princesses. These banker fellows are wild after grand marriages. Mark my
words, they intend Miss Newcome for some man of high rank. Old Lady Kew
is a monstrous clever woman. Nothing could show a more deplorable
ignorance of the world than poor Newcome supposing his son could make
such a match as that with his cousin. Is it true that he is going to
make his son an artist? I don't know what the deuce the world is coming
to. An artist! By Gad, in my t