you; and your vanity's wounded, that is
why you are so satirical."

"How can Miss Newcome remember all the men who are presented to her?"
says the other. "Last year she talked to me because she wanted to know
about you. This year she doesn't talk: because I suppose she doesn't
want to know about you any more."

"Hang it. Do--on't, Pen," cries Clive, as a schoolboy cries out to
another not to hit him.

"She does not pretend to observe: and is in full conversation with the
amiable Bustington. Delicious interchange of noble thoughts! But she is
observing us talking, and knows that we are talking about her. If ever
you marry her, Clive, which is absurd, I shall lose you for a friend.
You will infallibly tell her what I think of her: and she will order you
to give me up." Clive had gone off in a brown study, as his interlocutor
continued. "Yes, she is a flirt. She can't help her nature. She tries
to vanquish every one who comes near her. She is a little out of breath
from waltzing, and so she pretends to be listening to poor Bustington,
who is out of breath too, but puffs out his best in order to make
himself agreeable, with what a pretty air she appears to listen! Her
eyes actually seem to brighten."

"What?" says Clive, with a start.

I could not comprehend the meaning of the start: nor did I care much
to know: supposing that the young man was waking up from some lover's
reverie: and the evening sped away, Clive not quitting the ball
until Miss Newcome and the Countess of Kew had departed. No further
communication appeared to take place between the cousins that evening. I
think it was Captain Crackthorpe who gave the young lady an arm into
her carriage; Sir John Fobsby having the happiness to conduct the old
Countess, and carrying the pink bag for the shawls, wrappers, etc., on
which her ladyship's coronet and initials are emblazoned. Clive may have
made a movement as if to step forward, but a single finger from Miss
Newcome warned him back.

Clive and his two friends in Lamb Court had made an engagement for the
next Saturday to dine at Greenwich; but on the morning of that day there
came a note from him to say that he thought of going down to see his
aunt, Miss Honeyman, and begged to recall his promise to us. Saturday
is a holiday with gentlemen of our profession. We had invited F. Bayham,
Esquire, and promised ourselves a merry evening, and were unwilling to
baulk ourselves of the pleasure on account of the abse