er honest rosy face, more than one gentleman in the room admired and
looked after her; and Lady Fogey, who had a house in London and gave
herself no small airs of fashion when in the country, asked of Lady
Rockminster who the young person was, mentioned a reigning beauty in
London whom, in her ladyship's opinion, Laura was rather like, and
pronounced that she would "do."

Lady Rockminster would have been very much surprised if any protegee of
hers would not "do," and wondered at Lady Fogey's impudence in judging
upon the point at all. She surveyed Laura with majestic glances through
her eyeglass. She was pleased with the girl's artless looks, and gay
innocent manner. Her manner is very good, her ladyship thought. Her
arms are rather red, but that is a defect of her youth. Her tone is far
better than that of the little pert Miss Amory, who is dancing opposite
to her.

Miss Blanche was, indeed, the vis-a-vis of Miss Laura, and smiled most
killingly upon her dearest friend, and nodded to her and talked to her,
when they met during the quadrille evolutions, and patronised her a
great deal. Her shoulders were the whitest in the whole room: and they
were never easy in her frock for one single instant: nor were her eyes,
which rolled about incessantly: nor was her little figure:--it seemed to
say to all the people, "Come and look at me--not at that pink, healthy,
bouncing country lass, Miss Bell, who scarcely knew how to dance till
I taught her. This is the true Parisian manner--this is the prettiest
little foot in the room, and the prettiest little chaussure too. Look at
it, Mr. Pynsent. Look at it, Mr. Pendennis, you who are scowling behind
the curtain--I know you are longing to dance with me."

Laura went on dancing, and keeping an attentive eye upon Mr. Pen in
the embrasure of the window. He did not quit that retirement during
the first quadrille, nor until the second, when the good-natured Lady
Clavering beckoned to him to come up to her to the dais or place of
honour where the dowagers were,--and whither Pen went blushing and
exceedingly awkward, as most conceited young fellows are. He performed a
haughty salutation to Lady Rockminster, who hardly acknowledged his bow,
and then went and paid his respects to the widow of the late Amory,
who was splendid in diamonds, velvet, lace, feathers, and all sorts of
millinery and goldsmith's ware.

Young Mr. Fogey, then in the fifth form at Eton, and ardently expecting
his bear