. And if you would but try that
mare, I give you my honour I bred her at Codlington. She's a beauty to
look at, and as quiet as a lamb."

"I don't want a horse like a lamb," replied the young lady.

"Well--she'll go like blazes now: and over timber she's splendid now.
She is, upon my honour."

"When I come to London perhaps you may trot her out," said Miss Ethel,
giving him her hand and a fine smile.

Clive came up biting his lips. "I suppose you don't condescend to ride
Bhurtpore any more now?" he said.

"Poor old Bhurtpore! The children ride him now," said Miss Ethel--giving
Clive at the same time a dangerous look of her eyes, as though to see
if her shot had hit. Then she added, "No--he has not been brought up to
town this year: he is at Newcome, and I like him very much." Perhaps she
thought the shot had struck too deep.

But if Clive was hurt he did not show his wound. "You have had him these
four years--yes, it's four years since my father broke him for you. And
you still continue to like him? What a miracle of constancy! You use
him sometimes in the country--when you have no better horse--what a
compliment to Bhurtpore!"

"Nonsense!" Miss Ethel here made Clive a sign in her most imperious
manner to stay a moment when Lord Farintosh had departed.

But he did not choose to obey this order. "Good night," he said. "Before
I go I must shake hands with my aunt downstairs." And he was gone,
following close upon Lord Farintosh, who I dare say thought, "Why
the deuce can't he shake hands with his aunt up here?" and when
Clive entered Miss Honeyman's back-parlour, making a bow to the young
nobleman, my lord went away more perplexed than ever: and the next day
told friends at White's what uncommonly queer people those Newcomes
were. "I give you my honour there was a fellow at Lady Anne's whom they
call Clive, who is a painter by trade--his uncle is a preacher--his
father is a horse-dealer, and his aunt lets lodgings and cooks the
dinner."

CHAPTER XLIII. Returns to some Old Friends

The haggard youth burst into my chambers, in the Temple, on the very
next morning, and confided to me the story which has been just here
narrated. When he had concluded it, with many ejaculations regarding
the heroine of the tale, "I saw her, sir," he added, "walking with the
children and Miss Cann as I drove round in the fly to the station--and
didn't even bow to her."

"Why did you go round by the cliff?" asked Clive's fr