rry did not see the beautiful dark eyes.

"How dy do, Mr. Pendennis!"--a voice broke in here--it was that of a
young man in a large white coat with a red neckcloth, over which a dingy
shirt-collar was turned so as to exhibit a dubious neck--with a large
pin of bullion or other metal, and an imaginative waistcoat with
exceedingly fanciful glass buttons, and trousers that cried with a loud
voice, "Come look at me and see how cheap and tawdry I am; my master,
what a dirty buck!" and a little stick in one pocket of his coat, and a
lady in pink satin on the other arm--"How dy do--Forget me, I dare say?
Huxter,--Clavering."

"How do you do, Mr. Huxter," the Prince of Fairoaks said in his most
princely manner--"I hope you are very well."

"Pretty bobbish, thanky."--And Mr. Huxter wagged his head. "I say,
Pendennis, you've been coming it uncommon strong since we had the row
at Wapshot's, don't you remember. Great author, hay? Go about with the
swells. Saw your name in the Morning Post. I suppose you're too much
of a swell to come and have a bit of supper with an old
friend?--Charterhouse Lane to-morrow night,--some devilish good fellows
from Bartholomew's, and some stunning gin-punch. Here's my card." And
with this Mr. Huxter released his hand from the pocket where his cane
was, and pulling off the top of his card-case with his teeth produced
thence a visiting ticket, which he handed to Pen.

"You are exceedingly kind, I am sure," said Pen: "but I regret that I
have an engagement which will take me out of town to-morrow night." And
the Marquis of Fairoaks, wondering that such a creature as this could
have the audacity to give him a card, put Mr. Huxter's card into his
waistcoat pocket with a lofty courtesy. Possibly Mr. Samuel Huxter was
not aware that there was any great social difference between Mr. Arthur
Pendennis and himself. Mr. Huxter's father was a surgeon and apothecary
at Clavering just as Mr. Pendennis's papa had been a surgeon and
apothecary at Bath. But the impudence of some men is beyond all
calculation.

"Well, old fellow, never mind," said Mr. Huxter, who, always frank and
familiar, was from vinous excitement even more affable than usual. "If
ever you are passing, look up our place, I'm mostly at home Saturdays;
and there's generally a cheese cupboard. Ta, ta.--There's the bell for
the fireworks ringing. Come along, Mary." And he set off running with
the rest of the crowd in the direction of the fireworks.