er at Castellammare.
The next day Clive went for his passport to the embassy; and a steamer
departing direct for Marseilles on that very afternoon, behold Mr.
Newcome was on board of her; Lord Kew and his brother and J. J. waving
their hats to him as the vessel left the shore.

Away went the ship cleaving swiftly through the azure waters; but not
swiftly enough for Clive. J. J. went back with a sigh to his sketchbook
and easels. I suppose the other young disciple of Art had heard
something which caused him to forsake his sublime mistress for one who
was much more capricious and earthly.

CHAPTER XL. Returns from Rome to Pall Mall

One morning in the month of July, when there was actually sunshine in
Lamb Court, and the two gentlemen who occupied the third-floor chambers
there in partnership, were engaged, as their custom was, over their
pipes, and their manuscripts, and their Times newspaper, behold a fresh
sunshine burst into their room in the person of a young Clive, with
a bronzed face, and a yellow beard and mustachios, and those bright
cheerful eyes, the sight of which was always so welcome to both of us.
"What, Clive! What, the young one! What, Benjamin!" shout Pendennis and
Warrington. Clive had obtained a very high place indeed in the latter's
affections, so much so, that if I could have found it in my heart to be
jealous of such a generous brave fellow, I might have grudged him his
share of Warrington's regard. He blushed up with pleasure to see us
again. Pidgeon, our boy, introduced him with a jubilant countenance; and
Flanagan, the laundress, came smirking out of the bedroom, eager to
get a nod of recognition from him, and bestow a smile of welcome upon
everybody's favourite, Clive.

In two minutes an arm-chair full of magazines, slips of copy, and books
for review, was emptied over the neighbouring coal-scuttle, and Clive
was in the seat, a cigar in his mouth, as comfortable as if he had
never been away. When did he come? Last night. He was back in Charlotte
Street, at his old lodgings: he had been to breakfast in Fitzroy Square
that morning; James Binnie chirped for joy at seeing him. His father had
written to him desiring him to come back and see James Binnie; pretty
Miss Rosey was very well, thank you: and Mrs. Mack? Wasn't Mrs.
Mackenzie delighted to behold him? "Come, sir, on your honour and
conscience, didn't the widow give you a kiss on your return?" Clive
sends an uncut number of the Pall