at Rome with Lady Kew, and
describing the last works of Gibson and Macdonald. The visit lasted
but for half an hour. Not for one minute was Clive allowed to see Ethel
alone. At three o'clock Lady Kew's carriage was announced, and our young
gentleman rose to take his leave, and had the pleasure of seeing the
most noble Peer, Marquis of Farintosh and Earl of Rossmont, descend
from his lordship's brougham and enter at Lady Kew's door, followed by a
domestic bearing a small stack of flowers from Covent Garden.

It befell that the good-natured Lady Fareham had a ball in these
days; and meeting Clive in the Park, her lord invited him to the
entertainment. Mr. Pendennis had also the honour of a card. Accordingly
Clive took me up at Bays's, and we proceeded to the ball together.

The lady of the house, smiling upon all her guests, welcomed with
particular kindness her young friend from Rome. "Are you related to the
Miss Newcome, Lady Anne Newcome's daughter? Her cousin? She will be here
to-night." Very likely Lady Fareham did not see Clive wince and blush at
this announcement, her ladyship having to occupy herself with a thousand
other people. Clive found a dozen of his Roman friends in the room,
ladies young and middle-aged, plain and handsome, all glad to see his
kind face. The house was splendid; the ladies magnificently dressed; the
ball beautiful, though it appeared a little dull until that event took
place whereof we treated two pages back (in the allegory of Mr. Tomkins
and Miss Hopkins), and Lady Kew and her granddaughter made their
appearance.

That old woman, who began to look more and more like the wicked fairy of
the stories, who is not invited to the Princess's Christening Feast,
had this advantage over her likeness, that she was invited everywhere;
though how she, at her age, could fly about to so many parties, unless
she was a fairy, no one could say. Behind the fairy, up the marble
stairs, came the most noble Farintosh, with that vacuous leer which
distinguishes his lordship. Ethel seemed to be carrying the stack
of flowers which the Marquis had sent to her. The noble Bustington
(Viscount Bustington, I need scarcely tell the reader, is the heir
of the house of Podbury), the Baronet of the North, the gallant
Crackthorpe, the first men in town, in a word, gathered round the young
beauty, forming her court; and little Dick Hitchin, who goes everywhere,
you may be sure was near her with a compliment and a smile. E