ntured to anticipate. The only persons indeed for whom he felt any
sympathetic attraction were of the same sex as himself. The one was
Mr. Talbot, the old gentleman whom Mrs. Copperas had described as the
perfect courtier; the other, a young artist of the name of Warner.
Talbot, to Clarence's great astonishment (for Mrs. Copperas's eulogy had
prepared him for something eminently displeasing) was a man of birth,
fortune, and manners peculiarly graceful and attractive. It is true,
however, that, despite of his vicinity, and Mrs. Copperas's urgent
solicitations, he very seldom honoured her with his company, and he
always cautiously sent over his servant in the morning to inquire the
names and number of her expected guests; nor was he ever known to
share the plenteous board of the stock-jobber's lady whenever any
other partaker of its dainties save Clarence and the young artist were
present. The latter, the old gentleman really liked; and as for one
truly well born and well bred there is no vulgarity except in the mind,
the slender means, obscure birth, and struggling profession of Warner
were circumstances which, as they increased the merit of a gentle manner
and a fine mind, spoke rather in his favour than the reverse. Mr. Talbot
was greatly struck by Clarence Linden's conversation and appearance;
and indeed there was in Talbot's tastes so strong a bias to aristocratic
externals that Clarence's air alone would have been sufficient to win
the good graces of a man who had, perhaps, more than most courtiers of
his time, cultivated the arts of manner and the secrets of address.

"You will call upon me soon?" said he to Clarence, when, after dining
one day with the Copperases and their inmate, he rose to return home.
And Clarence, delighted with the urbanity and liveliness of his new
acquaintance, readily promised that he would.

Accordingly the next day Clarence called upon Mr. Talbot. The house, as
Mrs. Copperas had before said, adjoined her own, and was only separated
from it by a garden. It was a dull mansion of brick, which had disdained
the frippery of paint and whitewashing, and had indeed been built
many years previously to the erection of the modern habitations which
surrounded it. It was, therefore, as a consequence of this priority
of birth, more sombre than the rest, and had a peculiarly forlorn and
solitary look. As Clarence approached the door, he was struck with the
size of the house; it was of very considerable