friends, and lived in a capacious apartment, rather finely
furnished, with a round table covered with gaudy print-books, a
mantelpiece crowded with vases of mock Dresden, and a cottage piano, on
which Imogene could accompany her more than pleasing voice.

Somehow or other, the process is difficult to trace, Endymion not
unfrequently found himself at Mrs. Rodney's tea-table. On the first
occasion or so, he felt himself a little shy and embarrassed, but it
soon became natural to him, and he would often escape from the symposia
at Joe's, and, instead of the Divan, find in Warwick Street a more
congenial scene. There were generally some young men there, who seemed
delighted with the ladies, listened with enthusiasm to Imogene's
singing, and were allowed to smoke. They were evidently gentlemen, and
indeed Mr. Rodney casually mentioned to Endymion that one of the most
frequent guests might some day even be a peer of the realm. Sometimes
there was a rubber of whist, and, if wanted, Mrs. Rodney took a hand in
it; Endymion sitting apart and conversing with her sister, who amused
him by her lively observations, indicating even flashes of culture; but
always addressed him without the slightest pretence and with the utmost
naturalness. This was not the case with Mr. Rodney; pretence with him
was ingrained, and he was at first somewhat embarrassed by the presence
of Endymion, as he could hardly maintain before his late patron's son
his favourite character of the aristocratic victim of revolution. And
yet this drawback was more than counterbalanced by the gratification of
his vanity in finding a Ferrars his habitual guest. Such a luxury seemed
a dangerous indulgence, but he could not resist it, and the moth was
always flying round the candle. There was no danger, however, and that
Mr. Rodney soon found out. Endymion was born with tact, and it came to
him as much from goodness of heart as fineness of taste. Mr. Rodney,
therefore, soon resumed his anecdotes of great men and his personal
experience of their sayings, manners, and customs, with which he was
in the habit of enlivening or ornamenting the whist table; occasionally
introducing Endymion to the notice of the table by mentioning in a low
tone, "That is Mr. Ferrars, in a certain sense under my care; his father
is a privy councillor, and had it not been for the revolution--for I
maintain, and always will, the Reform Bill was neither more nor less
than a revolution--would probably