f the perusal of these lines
has rendered one single young couple uncomfortable, surely my amiable
end is answered, and I have written not altogether in vain.

Clive was going away, innocent though he was, yet quivering under his
aunt's reproof, and so put out of countenance that he had not even
thought of lighting the great cigar which he stuck into his foolish
mouth; when a shout of "Clive! Clive!" from half a dozen little voices
roused him, and presently as many little Newcomes came toddling down the
stairs, and this one clung round his knees, and that at the skirts of
his coat, and another took his hand and said, he must come and walk with
them on the beach.

So away went Clive to walk with his cousins, and then to see his old
friend Miss Cann, with whom and the elder children he walked to church,
and issuing thence greeted Lady Anne and Ethel (who had also attended
the service) in the most natural way in the world.

While engaged in talking with these, Miss Honeyman came out of the
sacred edifice, crisp and stately in the famous Agra brooch and Cashmere
shawls. The good-natured Lady Anne had a smile and a kind word for her
as for everybody. Clive went up to his maternal aunt to offer his arm.
"You must give him up to us for dinner, Miss Honeyman, if you please to
be so very kind. He was so good-natured in escorting Ethel down," Lady
Anne said.

"Hm! my lady," says Miss Honeyman, perking her head up in her collar.
Clive did not know whether to laugh or not, but a fine blush illuminated
his countenance. As for Ethel, she was and looked perfectly unconscious.
So, rustling in her stiff black silk, Martha Honeyman walked with
her nephew silent by the shore of the much-sounding sea. The idea of
courtship, of osculatory processes, of marrying and giving in marriage,
made this elderly virgin chafe and fume, she never having, at any period
of her life, indulged in any such ideas or practices, and being angry
against them, as childless wives will sometimes be angry and testy
against matrons with their prattle about their nurseries. Now, Miss Cann
was a different sort of spinster, and loved a bit of sentiment with
all her heart from which I am led to conclude--but, pray, is this the
history of Miss Cann or of the Newcomes?

All these Newcomes then entered into Miss Honeyman's house, where a
number of little knives and forks were laid for them. Ethel was cold and
thoughtful; Lady Anne was perfectly good-natured as her won