re
this arrival, the twins had been giving themselves great airs in the
room--the poor twins! when Ethel appeared they sank into shuddering
insignificance, and had to put up with the conversation and attentions
of second-rate men, belonging to second-rate clubs in heavy dragoon
regiments. One of them actually walked with a dancing barrister; but
he was related to a duke, and it was expected the Lord Chancellor would
give him something very good.

Before he saw Ethel, Clive vowed he was aware of her. Indeed, had not
Lady Fareham told him Miss Newcome was coming? Ethel, on the contrary,
not expecting him, or not having the prescience of love, exhibited signs
of surprise when she beheld him, her eyebrows arching, her eyes darting
looks of pleasure. When grandmamma happened to be in another room, she
beckoned Clive to her, dismissing Crackthorpe and Fobsby, Farintosh and
Bustington, the amorous youth who around her bowed, and summoning Mr.
Clive to an audience with the air of a young princess.

And so she was a princess; and this the region of her special dominion.
The wittiest and handsomest, she deserved to reign in such a place, by
right of merit and by general election. Clive felt her superiority, and
his own shortcomings: he came up to her as to a superior person. Perhaps
she was not sorry to let him see how she ordered away grandees and
splendid Bustingtons, informing them, with a superb manner, that she
wished to speak to her cousin--that handsome young man with the light
moustache yonder.

"Do you know many people? This is your first appearance in society?
Shall I introduce you to some nice girls to dance with?" What very
pretty buttons!"

"Is that what you wanted to say?" asked Clive, rather bewildered.

"What does one say at a ball? One talks conversation suited to the
place. If I were to say to Captain Crackthorpe, 'What pretty buttons!'
he would be delighted. But you--you have a soul above buttons, I
suppose."

"Being, as you say, a stranger in this sort of society, you see I am not
accustomed to--to the exceeding brilliancy of its conversation," said
Clive.

"What! you want to go away, and we haven't seen each other for near a
year!" cries Ethel, in quite a natural voice. "Sir John Fobsby, I'm very
sorry--but do let me off this dance. I have just met my cousin, whom I
have not seen for a whole year, and I want to talk to him."

"It was not my fault that you did not see me sooner. I wrote to you
that