an Lord
Farintosh presents himself--then it will be Farintosh's turn to find
that Lady Kew is not at home. Is there any young man in the Peerage
unmarried and richer than Farintosh? I forget. Why does not some one
publish a list of the young male nobility and baronetage, their
names, weights, and probable fortunes? I don't mean for the matrons of
Mayfair--they have the list by heart and study it in secret--but for
young men in the world; so that they may know what their chances are,
and who naturally has the pull over them. Let me see--there is young
Lord Gaunt, who will have a great fortune, and is desirable because you
know his father is locked up--but he is only ten years old--no--they can
scarcely bring him forward as Farintosh's rival.

"You look astonished, my poor boy? You think it is wicked in me to talk
in this brutal way about bargain and sale; and say that your heart's
darling is, at this minute, being paced up and down the Mayfair market
to be taken away by the best bidder. Can you count purses with Sultan
Farintosh? Can you compete even with Sir John Fobsby of the North? What
I say is wicked and worldly, is it? So it is; but it is true, as true as
Tattersall's--as true as Circassia or Virginia. Don't you know that the
Circassian girls are proud of their bringing up, and take rank according
to the prices which they fetch? And you go and buy yourself some
new clothes, and a fifty-pound horse, and put a penny rose in your
button-hole, and ride past her window, and think to win this prize? Oh,
you idiot! A penny rosebud! Put money in your purse. A fifty-pound hack
when a butcher rides as good a one!--Put money in your purse. A
brave young heart, all courage and love and honour! Put money in thy
purse--t'other coin don't pass in the market--at least, where old Lady
Kew has the stall."

By these remonstrances, playful though serious, Clive's adviser sought
to teach him wisdom about his love affair; and the advice was received
as advice upon those occasions usually is.

After calling thrice and writing to Miss Newcome, there came a little
note from that young lady, saying, "Dear Clive,--We were so sorry we
were out when you called. We shall be at home to-morrow at lunch, when
Lady Kew hopes you will come, and see yours ever, E. N."

Clive went--poor Clive! He had the satisfaction of shaking Ethel's hand
and a finger of Lady Kew; of eating a mutton-chop in Ethel's presence;
of conversing about the state of art